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Full text of "Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 33 June to November 1866"

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AUG 20 2003 


Digitized by the Internet Archive 
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327 to 335 PEAEL STREET, 






A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT diaries Mackay 428 


AMONG RELATIONS Ruth Harper 731 

ARE THERE OTHER INHABITED WORLDS? (Illustrated) Henry Draper 45 

ARKANSAS, THE WILDS OF. (Illustrated) , J. S. C. Abbott 581 

ARMADALE. (Illustrated) Wilkie Collins 75, ISC 

ARMY LIFE ON THE BORDER. (Illustrated) A. H. Guernsey 429 

ASBURY, FRANCIS. (Portrait) John Miley 210 


BERKSHIRE, LITTLE DOGS OF. (Illustrated) Catharine E. Beecher 722 

BIRDS, THE FOOD OF F. M. Brewer 241 

BLACKWELL'S ISLAND, THE WORK-HOUSE. (Illustrated) W.H. Davenport 683 

BLUE-FISHING AT MANASQUAN. (Illustrated) Robert D. Carter 719 

BOOKSELLERS, THE OLD Charles A. Stoddard 767 

BRIGANDS, THREE MONTHS WITH. (Illustrated) A. H. Guernsey 286 

CARLYLE AT EDINBURGH Alexander Smith 391 

CEMETERIES, NATIONAL. (Illustrated) James F. Russling 310 



CHATTANOOGA Herman Melvilte 44 

CIDER MILL, THE. (Illustrated) Charles Gates 681 





CRUISE OF THE ROB ROY. (Illustrated) A. II. Guernsey 569 

CURIOUS HOMES. (Illustrated) Mary Titcomb 161 

CURIOUS HOMES, MORE. (Illustrated) Mary Titcomb 273 








Drawer for June \20 Drawer for Septlmiiuu 

Drawer for July -«••" Drovik i..r c >. r..r.iu... 

Drawer for August 4"3 Drawer for Novemdlr. 


Chair for June 117 Chair for Septum nm ... 

Chair for July Cnvii: i«»r Ui Toiiru ... 

Chair for Atjgcbt 898 Chair fob Nor ember... 








GODIVA, THE LADY, AT HOME. Illuitrated) 











LISBON, A LOOK AT. (Illustrated) 


Mary X. Prtscott 7 74 
...I. //. Guernsey 110 

IhUn M. i \ , . 



J. S. C. Abbott 704 

I^utte E. CholLt 222 

iMuitt E. CholUt 387 


\f. < M h Vert «:»7 

Ilrrmam M<lvrfU 209 

.V. C. Conway Cl 

.V. C. Grnray C25 

AtAott 290, 444, £81, 781 

Jok* Isybmm 1 *3 

, J. 11'. T>Hil CCO 

Harriet E Prtscott 2i0 

...A. U. Guernsey 280 
. Ijouue E. Clot/ft .120 

John II. /V//517 

...N. G. Shrftherd 702 
Hi: Ilwjh IauIIout 477 

J. M. Dinytey 238 

1 / Gil n I7'» 

Napoleon's History uf Julius Ca-sar, 400. Hoar* lam oo HUtncy ; Paddov end Ilannan'f Coal, Iron, tod 

without Hands; Strtnton's Campaigns of ibe Army of Petroleum; Harper*. Hand It ok for Traveler* ; Thm 

the Potomac; Loesing's Pictorial History of the Citll Tolleri of the Sea,; Phemie Keller; Armadale, lucid*, 

War; Spencer's Narrative of Andeivonrilhf, 401. Gil* 402. 
mor's Four Years iu the Saddle: Cioldwin Smith's Lec- 

L1TTLE BLACK DOGS OF BERKSHIRE, (Illustrated) Catharine E. Backer 722 

LIVE AMERICAN, THE William Ron \\ '/», <-! 

LOOKING UNDER THE BED Obi K. Tuckermm 789 


MANASQUAN. (Illustrated) Robi rt I). Carter 7 1 9 

MAY-BASKET, A Sora Perry 489 



MIDSUMMER GUrtim Seymour K,0 



MIDSUMMER A 7 . G. Shepherd 443 


MISS LETITIA Louise Chandler Mouiton 9G 


MISS STUYVESANT , ..Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 336 

MRS. ROTH'S BRIDAL TOUR William W. Slices Oil 


United States.— The President's Teace Proclama- 
tions, 122, 670. Texas not included ; the Texas Con- 
vention, 122. Texas restored, G70. Passage of the Civil 
Rights Bill; Speeches of Senators Trumbull and John- 
eon, 1'23. Analysis of the Vote, 124. General Butler's 
Plan of Reconstruction, 124. Plan proposed by the 
Committee of Fifteen, 124, 2G0, 31)8. Amendments to 
the Constitution and Bills, 124, 261, 39S. Revenue Bill 
reported, 125. Bill for equalizing Bounties, 125. Colo- 
rado as a State, 125, 201. Alexander H. Stephens on 
the Condition of Georgia, 125. The New Jersey Sena- 
torship, 125, 801. Election in Connecticut, 126. In 
Maine and Vermont, 806. The Cholera, 120, 581. The 
French in Mexico, 120, 300. Mr. Seward's Dispatch, 
Reply of M. Drouyn de Lhuys; French Troops to be 
withdrawn, 120. Austria and Mexico, 127, 300. In- 
structions to our Minister at Vienna, 127. The Recon- 
struction Plan passed by the House, amended in the 
Senate, 200. Mr. Stevens's new Plan, 201. The Colo- 
rado Bill passed, and Vetoed by the President, 201. 
Views of the Cabinet on Reconstruction : Speeches of 
Messrs. Seward, Stanton, M'Cullocll, and others, 201. 
Indictment of Jefferson Davis, 203. Death of Winfield 
Scott, 263. The Fenians, 203, 30S. The Fenians in 
Maine, 2G3. Resolution proposing Amendments to the 
Constitut ion, as passed, 308. Fenian Raid into Canada, 
398. The Philadelphia "National Union Convention," 
520, GG0. Call for the Convention, 520. Mr. Seward's 
Better, 520. Resignations of Mr. Speed, Attorney-Gen- 
eral, Mr. Dennison, Postmaster-General, and Mr. Har- 
lan, Secretary of the Interior, 520. The Restoration of 
Tennessee, 520. The President's Message thereupon, 
530. Nebraska, 530. The Freedmen's Bureau, 530. 
Adjournment of Congress, 530. The prominent Acts of 
the Session, 530. Grant appointed General, Sherman 
Lieutenant - General, Farragut Admiral, and Porter 
Vice-Admiral, 531. Conflagration at Portland, 531. 
Riot at New Orleans, 531. Laying of the Atlantic Tel- 
egraph Cable, 531. The Philadelphia Convention ; 
Declaration of Principles and Address, GGO. Speech 
of Governor Orr. of South Carolina, 070. Restoration 
of Texas, 070. The Message of Governor Throckmorton, 
070. General Granger's Report on the Condition of the 
South, 070. Speech of General Butler, 071. The Pres- 
ident's Tour, 671, 807. Convention of Southern Loyal- 
ists, 806. The New York State Conventions, 806. Elec- 
tions in Vermont and Maine, S0G. Constitutional 

Amendment ratified by New Jersey, 807. The Presi- 
dent's Tour; unfavorable Reception at various Places ; 
his Speeches, 807. Laying of the Corner-Stone of the 
Douglas Monument; Mr. Dix's Oration and Mr. Sew- 
ard's Speech, 807. 

Foreign The French in Mexico, 120, 300, 532, G7J. 

Austria and Mexico, 127, 300. Prussia and Austria, 
127, 204, 300, 533, 072, S07. Grounds of the War be- 
tween Prussia and Austria, 12S. Bismarck's Circular to 
the German States, 128. Bombardment of Valparaiso 
by the Spaniards, 128. The Spanish Attack upon Cal- 
lao, 203. Italy and Austria, 204. M. Rouber's Decla- 
ration in the French Legislature, 2G4. Reply of M. 
Thiers, 2G4. Napoleon's Speech at Auxerre, 2G4. The 
proposed European Congress, 204, 300. Financial Panic 
in Europe, 204. Statement of the British Chancellor 
of the Exchequer, 204. Debts of the European Nations, 
204. The War on the Plata, 300, 532, 672, SOL Bat- 
tle at Estara Bellaco, 300. Napoleon on the European 
Congress, 390. Austria, Prussia, and the Diet, 300. 
Prussia and Italy declare War against Austria, 309. 
The Prussian Manifesto, 309. The Austrian Manifesto, 
400. Battle at Tuguity, on the Plata, 532. Resigna- 
tion of the British Ministers, and Formation of a new 
Cabinet, 532. Lord Derby on the Policy of the Gov- 
ernment, 532. Action on the Jamaica Riots, 532. The 
Miantonomoh in Europe, 533. The Prussians overrun 
Hanover and Saxony, 533. Battle of Custozza* the 
Italians defeated by the Austrians, 533. Progress of 
the Prussians : Battles of Nachod, Trautenau, Miinehen- 
gratz, and Gitschin, 533. The great Battle of Sadowa, 
the Austrians defeated, 533. Austria cedes Venetia to 
France, 534. The Emperor of Austria's Manifesto to his 
People, 534. Battles of Kissingen and Aschaffenburg, 
534. Operations in Italy, 534. Naval Battle at Lissa, 
534. Negotiations for Peace, 534, 072, S07. Maximilian's 
Blockade of Matamoras declared void, G72. The United 
States and Mexico, 672. Battle at Presburg, 672. Pre- 
liminary Treaty between Prussia and Austria, 672. 
Acquisitions made by Prussia, 672. The Population of 
the European Powers, 672. Venetia ceded by France to 
Italy, 672. Prorogation of the British Parliament, 672. 
Treaties between Prussia, Austria, and Bavaria, 807. 
Hanover annexed to Prussia, SOS. Remonstrance of 
Hanoverian Deputies, SOS. The French Circular, SOS. 
Insurrection in Candia, SOS. War on the Plata, SOS. 
Secret Treaty between the Allies, SOS. 

MR. MUDDLAR'S MISTAKE Jane Thomeypine 234 

MY CROSS Louise Chandler Mouiton 503 

MY SISTER MARCIA Louise Chandler Mouiton 744 

NATIONAL CEMETERIES. (Illustrated) James F. Russling 310 

NEWSPAPERLANA Josq>hJ. Belcher 36G 


OLD TIMES AND NEW A. L. Carroll 793 

OPENING OF THE MISSISSIPPI. (Illustrated) ./. S. C Abbott 29G 

OUTSIDE WORLD, THE ....LouiseE. Chollet 112 

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF THE WAR D. II. Str other 1, 137, 409, 545 

PICKED UP AT SEA Robert D. Carter 750 


REESE RIVER COUNTRY, THE. (Illustrated) J". Ross Browne 26 




ROB ROY, CRUISE OF THE. (Illustrated) A. H. Guernsey 669 

ST.LEONS, THE I>. R. Cast hum 171 

SAINT MARK'S EVE Robert D. Carter 608 




SISTERS Katharine F. Williams 73G 


SPECTRE, THE .V. G. Sliephertl 64 


TEXAS LOST AND W< >N. (Illustrated /. & C. Abbott : i I 

TOAD, THE UGLY J. \ \ C. Smith to 7 

TWO CAN PLAY AT THAI < i A M 1 Mary E. W. >henrood 470 


VEGETABLES, 01 R Mary E. lkxltjt 623 

VENICE. (Illustrated) 703 

WAR, RECOLLECTIONS OF THE. (Illiwtmted) I). II. Strother 1, 137, 409, 646 


WOODEN LEGS. (Illustrated) 5G7 


WORK-HOUSE AT BLACKWELLS ISLAND. (Illustrated; IT. //. Davenport 683 


1. The Two-Faced Shield 






6. The March upon Harper's Ferry 


7. Burning of Arsenal at Harper's Ferry 


8. The Battery, Harper's Ferry 


9. What News of the War ? 


10. Watering Horses, Allison's Tavern . . . 


11. The Guard-House 



13. Demonstrating Value of Ledges 




16. The Principal Mines 





20. Oregon Mill, Upper Austin 



22. A Candidate for Mayor 



24. The Flour at Auction 


25. Mr. Rankin's House, Austin 


26. New York Speculators 


27. The Midas Mill 


28. The Midas Mine 


29. The Keystone Mill 


30. The Confidence Mill 


31. The Parrott Mill 


32. Canon City— Buel's Mill 


33. Interior of Buel's Mill 


34. Battery and Amalgamating Room . . . 


35. Roasting Chamber, Midas Mill 


36. The Moon at Sunrise 


37. The Moon during the Forenoon 


38. The Planet Mars . . 


39. Henry Barth 



41. Ruins of Church, Charlestown 


42. A Patent of Nobility 


43. A Candidate for the Peerage 


44. The Havelock 


45. Ruins of Bridge, Harper's Ferry 



47. A Confederate Volunteer 


48. The Innate Idea 


49. The Little Cottager 150 

50. Not at Home 151 

51. Mouse-Nest in a Bottle 161 

52. Harvest Mouse 162 

53. Dormouse and Nest 164 

54. Nests of Apoica 165 

55. Nests of Icarias 165 

56. Hive of the Bee 166 

57. Nest of the Hornet 167 

58. Nest of the Mud Wasp 168 

59. Nest of the Pasteboard Wasp 168 

60. Nests of Polistes. . . 169 

61. Tower of Belem, Lisbpn 170 

62. Castle of Penha 172 

63. Church of Loretto 173 

64. Rua Augusta, Lisbon 176 

65. Praca do Rocio, and Theatre 177 

66. Palace of Ajuda ISO 

67. Great Arch of the Aqueduct 182 

68. Francis Asbury 210 

69. The Water Spider 273 

70. Foraging Ants 274 

71. Nests of Termite 275 

72. Fungus Ant 276 

73. House-builder and Atlas Moth 276 

74. Tufted Spider and Nests 277 

75. Pensile Spider's Nest 278 

76. The Raft Spider 279 

77. Stickleback and Nest 280 

78. Corals and Madrepores 282 

79. The Beaver and its Home 283 

80. The Elk, and its Walk 285 

81. W. J. C. Moens 286 

82. The Capture by Brigands 287 

83. Captain Manzo 2S8 

84. Fight between Brigands and Soldiers 289 

85. The Ruins of Pajstum 290 

86. Giardullo di Pesto 291 

87. Brigands' Encampment 292 

88. Manzo's Receipt 294 

89. Map of Brigand Wanderings 295 

90. The Hartford and the Mississippi 297 

91. The Populace of New Orleans 299 

92. Cutting Canal opposite Vicksburg. . . 303 

93. Death of General Williams 307 

94. Destruction of the Arkansas 308 

95. Plan of Gettysburg Cemetery 315 

96. Plan of Cemetery near Murfreesboro 317 



07. Plan of Cemetery at Chattanooga . . . 

98. Andersonville, View from Gate 

99. Amenities of the War 

100. The Drum Ecclesiastic 

101. Compromise, Duty and Laziness 

102. Camp, Sugar-Loaf Mountain 

103. Head-Quarters near Hyattstown ... 

104. Masked Battery, Edward's Ferry 

105. Topographical Camp, Damestown . . 
1 0G. Battery at Edward's Ferry 

107. Adam the Minstrel 

108. View from Head-Quarters 

109. Keep away, Indians! 

110. Comanche Lodges 

111. The Ranchcro and Comanches 

112. Origin of the Tonkawa Indians 

1 13. Head of the Kc-che-a-qui-ho-no Kiv. r 

114. Crossing the Kocky Mountain! 

115. Arrival near Fort Maiwaehnwftoi 

1 1G. Stampede of Horses and Mules 

1 1 7. The Grizzly Bear 

US. Jim Baker's %ht 

119. Texas Rangers 

120. Capture of the " Royal" Yacht 

121. Massacre of Fugitives 

1L'2. Capture of the Harriet Lane 

123. Homer C. Blake 

124. Mrs. Bell's, Darncstown 

125. Topographical Camp, M:i - 
12G. Signal-Station, Montgomery County . . 

127. Encampment of Signal Party 

128. The Old Zouave 

129. Machines for Field lieconnoissan 

130. Camp Seminary, Alexandria 

131. Winter Camp of Fourth New Ji 

132. The Seminary Pump 

133. ^Esthetics 

134. Wooden Legs 

185. The Roh Roy in the Rollers 

13G. Esquimaux Canoe Summerset 

137. A Choked Channel 

138. Shooting a Rapid 

139. The Rob Roy on Wheels 

140. Cattle Swimming the Blense 

141. Singers' Wagon 

142. In the Hay-Fields 

143. Accommodations Wanted 

144. Morning Visitors to the Roh Rov. . . . 

145. The Rob Roy in a Crowd " 

14G. Sailing on Lake Zug 

147. Shirking a Waterfall 

148. Passing the Rapids of the Reuss . . . . 

31 s 

4 .... 


4.: I 







55 S 


1 55. 



1 7:?. 
1 75. 


1 v.. 
1— . 

Fixed 00 a Waterfall . . 
Waging- Barge 

French Fishers 

Chain Barrier 

Samuel R. Curtis 

Rattle of Pea Bidgc 

James G. Blunt .... 
Francis .1. Hem n 

Rabb's Batten* 

Iowa and Wisconsin Kcgiments 

Entry into Little R>ck 

Lady Cl< d i va . the Cove n t rv Proccssi 

Effigy of Pet ) ing Tom 

Anns of Coreniry 

New England Valley 

The Cider Mill 

Pouring out Apples 

Sucking Cider • 

The Work-House. IllackwcU'i Ma 
Interior of Wing, Work-Home . . 

Hoop-Skirt Factory 

Work-House Shoemakers 

Skulkers from Work 

The Steamboat Dock 

Arrival of Prisoner! at the Dock. 

Just Locked up 

Work- House Tailors . 

The Scwing-Koom 

The Dark Cell 

Mess- Room 

Interior of a Cell 

Prisoners getting Ice 

Building Sca-Wall 

Breaking Stones 

At the Swill Tub 

The Cart-Woman 
Work-House Boatmen off Dun 

Venice •. 

Truman Seymour 

Reinforcement of Fort Pickens . . 
Burning of the Schooner 
Dcstruction of Salt-Works 

Battle of ( >lustcc 

Blue-Fishing on the Beach . 
Black Dogs of Berkshire .... 


Maggie cum Doggie 

Dog-forsaken Maggie 

Let Dogs delight 

Old Trip 

Defying Thunder 

Vale Dogs and Tobacco 


. 501 
. 592 
>n G25 


. 681 


il r, 

• . ?» *» 














IT is with unfeigned reluctance that I have 
undertaken to write upon subjects which 
have been so recently and exhaustively treated 
by contemporaneous pens and pencils ; to pass 
over ground which has been illuminated by the 
calcium light of the American press ; or to 
touch on questions which have been subjected 
to the intelligent scrutiny of Congressional 
Committees ; yet I am encouraged by the hope 
that views taken from an original and somewhat 
peculiar stand-point may still possess sufficient 
attraction to justify their publication, and that 
a personal narrative, with all its incidental triv- 
ialities, errors, inconsistencies, and egotism, may 
find an acceptable apology in the superior in- 
terest of the grand historic drama with which 
it is interwoven. 

A native of the valley of the Shenandoah, I 
have passed the greater part of my life on the 
Northern border of Virginia — a region which, 
from its geographical position and mixed popu- 
lation, has always been debatable ground be- 
tween the contending opinions of the age, and 
which eventually became a most important 
theatre of the war, resulting from these opin- 
ions. It is thus that I became, almost from 

necessity, an interested observer of many of the 
opening scenes of the contest, and subsequently 
an active participator in its armed solution. 

During the winter of 1860-61 I was residing 
at my father's house in Martinsburg, occupied 
with my private affairs and arranging plans for 
a future of peace and seclusion. These dreams 
were disturbed from time to time by the indi- 
cations of the approaching storm, but I resolute- 
ly closed my eyes and stopped my ears, determ- 
ined not to be disturbed. I had never taken 
any active interest in the party politics of the 
day, and was the less disposed to mingle in the 
present strife, as I sympathized with neither of 
the extreme factions which, from opposite quar- 
ters, seemed to be mutually intent on breaking 
down the Government and destroying the peace 
and prosperity of the country. I saw nothing 
in the contest but the rage of adverse dogma- 
tisms, sharpened by the baser lust for official 
plunder — that party spirit, which, Addison says, 
" robs men, not only of all honor and decency, 
but of every particle of common sense." 

In the rapid progress of events, however, it 
became manifest that the questions before the 
country were not to be put aside with this cyn- 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerk's Office of the Dis- 
trict Court for the Southern District of New York. 

* Vol. XXXIII.— No. 193.— A 


icland superficial observation. Under, mon- endeavored «»J«^**»J 


archy a subject may be permitted to seclude 
himself from the political storms that duke 
thrones and menace dynasties. Even amidst 
the fury of war he can calmly panne sonic hr 
vorite science with reasonable assurance that 
his motive and character will be respected The 
citizen of a free Republic can claim DO inch 
privilege. "The price of his personal liberty 
is eternal vigilance." Under whatever pretext 
he may seek to hide himself or evade the re- 
sponsibilities Of hifl condition, when the storm 
rises he is sure to feel his neighbor's hand DpOO 
his shoulder, and hear the cry of warning and 
reproach: "What meanest thou, deeper 1 
arise and call upon thy God. 

It was, indeed, high time that the Border 
Virginians should awake, for the gulf that was 
opening between the advene lectioni pawned 
beneath their very hearths; and the sword w hich 
was drawn to divide the nation must also Orf 
their hearts in twain. When, at length, im- 
pelled to the serious consideration of the Im- 
pending crisis, 1 can not boast, as many do. 
that I clearly appreciated the merit- of the quar- 
rel or foresaw its results. Preferring t.. pre 
serve a reputation for frankness to the douht- 

personality which |h rtain to the origin..! manu- 
script. If some thing* lia\e In en omitted (thai 
might be worth the telling, in place and soanon), 
and certain obscure passages made dearer \>\ 
the light of after-knowledge, in the mam the 
recorded facts ami opinions of the day remain 
unchanged. There will appear the uncertain 
gropings, the vacillation*, the incon^^tcm les 
of opinion, the error* of hasty and juirtial Qt- 
servation, the vain hoj>es, the catiM*leM fears, 
the embittered prejudice-, ami e\< ited pa**n>n* 
which necessarily accompany the progres* of a 
political revolution, s,. radical and comprehen- 
sive, accomplished through a *>cial war so 
bloody and vindictive a* that which ha* recent- 
ly ended. 

It will be abo Mi that in writing then* in- 
dividual cx|H'riences it i- not propo M «d t" emu. 
late the dignity and comprehemdvenc** of Un- 
to ry, hut to give clo-er and more detailed view* 
of character* and event-, a s, no of photo- 
graphic picture* hastily caught, during the ac- 
tion of the changing drama. Sene* where the 
greatne*.* of little thing*, and the IiuIciicm of 
great thing*, w ill nomctiracfl 1*> strikingly illus- 
trated by juxtaj>o*ilion, w here tragedy and « oin- 

ful honor of being enrolled among the pout j edy, laughter and tear*, 

facto prophets, I am fain to acknowledge in 
the phraseology of tobacco planter-) that I had 
very few opinion! "ready cut and dry" for tin- 
occasion. I heard nothing but a confusion of 
tongues such as followed the destruction o| lla 
bcl. I saw nothing but political chaos which 
seemed about to swallow up government, law, 
life, and property together. There had been 
a prevalent and growing conviction among si hat 
were called Conservative men. especially at the 
South, that the experiment of popular Govern 
ment was a failure. Maeaulay had written I 
letter to some one prophesying that the Amer- 
ican system would break down on the BfS| 
lions trial. I shared this belief to some extent. 
The revolutionary anarchy which w as spreading 
like a fire from State to State, the seeming help- 
lessness of the General Government, the chaos 
of opinion — all combined to Convince me that 
the predicted day of trial had arrived, and that 
it needed no Daniel to interpret the handwrit- 
ing on the wall. 

Impressed at the same time with the belief 
that we were entering upon an era which would 
figure in history, I determined to take advant- 
age of my position to observe the progress of 
events and to keep a Diary. 

This promise, however, was but negligent- 
ly performed at first. During the winter of 
1 860—6 1 I find nothing recorded beyond an 
occasional comment, opinion, or anecdote sug- 
gested by the current news, and these jotted 
down hastily, without date or continuity. In 
time my journal became more methodical, and 
after I entered the military service was as full 
and accurate as possible under the circum- 

In preparing these notes for the press I have 

ann in arm together. And it may be that a 
more thoughtful da** who would L>ok Uduml 
the creaking machinery and hum led actor* of 
the drama, may find in thcuc crude and tin- 

skillful obsrrvution* Migge*tu 

ucric* which 

will be found a- difficult to answer a* tho*c of 
the peSJl lam .it-- : 

- Shall rrr T In the round of tlm* 

Still falh-r truti • «» •hall ihm hrm«x»rt ■IhviI 
For mm« blind tfllmpw <>f frrwWn work tl*rlf 
Thn-ush madrw- , b.l*d by I ho wIk, tn U«, 
Sy«U?m, »nd cmplrr? Hln »l*«lf l«" f<'«in«l 
Tlx? rloudy porch, oft opening on the tun I** 
Having thus indicated the geographical and 
political stand-point from which m\ opening 
view s of the war were taken, I commence tran- 
scribing from my Diary. 

South Carolina ha* actually seceded ! 

and what of that? South Carolina i- a great 
way off, and has been threatening >e. . - . n 
for thirty years or more. The Toryism of 
177o' has never died out in South Carolina, nor 
have her gentry ever fully acquiesced in our 
republican form of government. It is high 
time the questions between her and the conn 
try were settled. I wish she had made up her 
mind to try conclusions with Andrew ,Ja< k-on. 
when she had her hand raised to pluck tlx 
bidden fruit. Docs she think it more net 
ripe now? or that the present "Old Man' 
won't throw stones ? I'll vouch for it, that if 
he does not, somebody will. 

I am rather glad South Carolina ha* tak- 
en this decisive -t« j.. Her arrogance ami rash- 
ness have arrayed even her Southern neigh- 
bors against her. She will not be supported 
by a single State. I have not heard a voice 
raised in her behalf. Kven those who have 



heretofore been most vociferous about Southern 
rights unite in condemning her premature pre- 
sumption. A ship of war in the harbor of 
Charleston, and a battalion of national troops 
thrown into the forts, will quench South Caro- 
lina as briefly as one may snuff out a tallow dip 
with his thumb and finger. 

"Sedition is like fire, easily extinguished 

at the commencement, but the longer it burns 
the more fiercely it blazes." 

South Carolina is not quenched, and 

there seems to be no disposition on the part of 
those in power to put the extinguisher on her. 

As she pursues her course of presump- 
tuous madness with impunity other States are 
following her example. 

Each day brings tidings of fresh out- 
rages and humiliations heaped upon the Gov- 
ernment, seizures of arsenals, arms, forts, dock- 
yards, and vessels — of traitorous officers sur- 
rendering their charges without defense— *of 
faithful officers arrested and thrown into pris- 
on, besieged in forts where they are cut off 
from supplies and assistance — our national flag 
hauled down and trampled in the dust, with all 
its glorious historic memories, to be replaced by 
some tawdry rag flaunting an obscure device 
known only to local office-holders and militia- 

The effect of this state of things is distinctly 
perceptible in the tone of opinion around us. 
State Sovereignty dogmatism is becoming daily 
more open and arrogant. County court meta- 
physicians are modifying their Unionism with 
ifs and ands and peradventures — small anglers 
in the mud-puddle of village tavern opinion are 
drawing in their lines and changing their bait 
— petty politicians are craftily trimming their 
sails that their cock-boats may run with the 
rising wind. But while the weak-kneed are 
thus tottering, and trimmers fluttering in the 
breeze, the storm serves to fan to fiercer flame 
the indignation of all true men. All eyes and 
hearts are now turned toward Washington, ex- 
pectant, eager, hopeful. There centres the 
power which in its infancy has met and twice 
foiled the giant of Great Britain, which in the 
very wantonness of its lusty youth made a holi- 
day frolic of throttling poor Mexico. What 
will the Government do in this crisis ? 

Is it secret sympathy with treason or 

mere driveling that tells the American people 
"the Government has no right to coerce a 
State?" — a nation that for more than eighty 
years has maintained fleets and armies, has 
waged wars and made peace, has collected cus- 
toms and coined money ; whose commerce cov- 
ers the globe, whose flag is known and honored 
wherever the sun shines ; whose power and 
civilization are acknowledged by the proudest 
and most enlightened peoples ; whose future 
promises to surpass in grandeur all that history 
has yet recorded. Such a nation has not the 
right to suppress domestic insurrection ! So 
vast an aggregation of power, prosperity, and 
hope must submit quietly and unresistingly to 

perish at the bidding of a local faction, a con- 
federacy of visionary schemers, conceited dog- 
matists, self-deluding and self-stultifying econ- 
omists — base huxters, who unblushingly pre- 
tend to barter the national honor and safety for 
the advantage of cheap negroes and a good'cot- 
ton market ; unprincipled politicians, whose vul- 
pine instincts have warned them that the power 
and places which they have so long abused and 
so deeply corrupted are about to be withdrawn 
from their keeping! 

Is nothing lawful or constitutional but the 
outrages of revolutionary mobs, the violation 
of solemn oaths, the plundering of national prop- 
erty, and the babbling of seditious orators ? 

Is the Government we have loved and trust- 
ed indeed so pitiable and impotent a sham? 
Have the founders, whom we have been ac- 
customed to regard as wise and good men, real- 
ly put such a scurvy trick upon us ? Have we 
built houses, laid up wealth, begot children, ac- 
quired honors, and recreated in boasting and 
self-glorification under the delusion of a Polit- 
ical Idea that would disgrace a council of Potta- 
watomies ? 

Such are the questions that loyal Virginians 
in the bitterness of their humiliation now ask 
each other, as the daily mails bring in the ac- 
cumulating details of rebel outrage, arrogance, 
and menace, responded to only by government- 
al acquiescence, deprecatory remonstrance, and 
despicable compromise. 

"Ah, God! for a man with heart, head, hand, 
Like some of the simple great ones gone 

For ever and ever by — 
One still strong man in a blatant land, 

Whatever they call him, what care I, 
Aristocrat, Democrat, Autocrat — one 

Who can rule and dare not lie." 

The proposition to call a Convention in 

Virginia is opposed by all discreet men. The 
people of the State are opposed to Secession, or 
even to the consideration of the subject. This 
idea of a Convention is only a scheme of cer- 
tain Richmond conspirators to get the repre- 
sentative power of the Commonwealth under 
their hands into a more compact and conven- 
ient form for manipulation. 

In the recent election for members of 

the Convention the people of Virginia have ex- 
pressed their determination to remain in the 
Union by an overwhelming majority. Glori- 
ously has the good old State vindicated her 
honorable traditions and the memory of those 
noble sons whose effigies fill the chief places in 
the National Pantheon. 

We have been wrong in doubting the solid- 
ity of popular government. Solomon says : 
' ' Many are in high place and of renown, but 
mysteries are revealed to the meek." So it 
seems in our day — while our statesmen are 
turned drivelers, our honorables colloguing 
with treason, the wise and crafty mazed in a 
labyrinth of foolishness, the simple faith of the 
people is steadfast, and is alone sufficient to 
save us. While those learned in the law and 
subtle expounders of constitutions are choking 



us with the metaphysical doubts ami twaddle, 
comes forth the plowman from hi- field, the 
grimy artisan from his shop, the meek, unlet- 
tered citizen, without Latin enough t<> trans- 
late " JS pkinbta unum," and barely English 
enough to decipher the vernacular "United an 
stand, divided ire /all/' This eomprises all hi* 
knowledge of statesmanship. He never ha* 
read any Constitutions, or Bills of Rights, or 
Resolutions of 'OS, or Congressional Delate*. 
It is well for the country, perhaps, that he has 
not, or they might have addled his brains as 
they have those of many others; yet. though 
his political creed is so simple, he understand* 
it, not so clearly with his head as with his heart. 
He learned it from his father, who fought un- 
der Jackson in IslL': who learned it from hi- 
father, who inarched with Washington in 17 7': 
He has taught it to his hare-legged l"<v. w 1 , 
tends the plow or blows the bellow s at the fa^e. 
He has faith in it, and will stand by it when 
the day of trial conies. We, the people of 
these United State-, will not | K ' divided. I 
have never seen our people so serioun on the 
occasion of an election. The\ s, . m to 
had an instinctive warning of rffl wtlg <>w\, 
and, distrusting their old poHtieaj leaden, I.r,, 
s])urned the party trammels and per*, m.,1 j-r. | 

udioea which have heretofore Influenced them 

They seem every where in the State lo 1 
chosen the best men that were offered. Vir 
ginia is safe. I thank liod f„ r tin. signal re 
buke to those degenerate Virginian* who would 
have sold this glorious old Commonwealth a> a 
convenient tool to the weak and - lti«h M-hctuer* 
of the Gulf States— a tool to be worked with, 
mined, ami scorned. 

We have \e\atiou<* news from Rich- 

inond. The tone of the Contention ►ecins t< 
be giving way. The pressure brought to beat 
against the Unionists is said to U- \er> b. aw 

j The oily blandishment* of a wen I thy imd pol- 
ished society arc spread to catch the lighter 
flies; the weak ami cone 
wordy subtleties ; the \ etin 

! iscs ; the timid assailed \ 
ace. Hired bullies and I. 
the Convention in it* »it 

d an* takrn with 
I bouirht by prom 
iiuult and men 

Union members to their 

treachery wo* premeditated. Simullancooah 
with the*c proceeding* at Richmond 1 pcrreivr 
the State l» flooded with letter*, printed docu- 
ment*, and oratorical emioaaric*, circulating, 
the nio*t braaen iin|HMtnre», harked hr thr 
mo*t insolent threats, intended to hritu? tin- 

It t« declared that if tl 

not lie 
woe If 


and in 

r» in the 

the Sr. o.Moni«t« have in trwir rank* all the 



mm ■ 


active fighting element, all the available polit- 
ical ability, arms, organization, and a determ- 
ined purpose, besides complete control of all 
branches of the State and municipal govern- 
ment. The domineering insolence of their 
tone seems to give assurance of triumph be- 
fore it is actually achieved. 

The Unionists, they say, on the other hand, 
are conservative, timid, unprepared, depreca- 
tory, without organization or positive purpose. 
They must therefore succumb or leave the 
State. This is Richmond opinion ; but Vir- 
ginia is a State of imperial boundaries, and 
these James River people will find out ere 
long that 

" There are hills heyond Pentland 
And streams beyond Forth." 

I have just returned from a visit to 

Charlestown. The politicians and tavern loun- 
gers are very full of Secession talk, but, as far 
as I could learn, the more solid men and rural 
gentry are decidedly adverse to it. 

In returning I called at Park Forest, the 
birth-place of my father. The white family 
was from home, but the clouds of high-bred 
poultry which surrounded the establishment 
gave an idea of the bountiful and succulent 

hospitality of rural life in Jefferson. All the 
surroundings betokened easy and plenteous 
living. In the kitchen I found the cook — a 
picture of abundance, shining with greasy con- 
tentment, all unconscious of the coming wars, 
and unambitious of the glorious future destined 
for her race. 

With hospitable alacrity she brewed me the 
needful cup of coffee, and I pursued my soli- 
tary way. The road I took was through a 
wooded and secluded region traversing the 
Opequan pine hills, so my time was occupied 
with melancholy musings : "There will be war. 
Thirty years of political wrangling have made 
war inevitable. ' As the smoke and vapor of 
the furnace goeth before the fire, so reviling 
before blood.' " 

There must be war. Four-score years of un- 
checked and unexampled prosperity has made 
the nation drunk — " Jeshurun waxed fat, and 

There must be war. These convulsions are 
essential to the political as storms and torna- 
does are to the physical world. Wc have gone 
a very long time without one. That of 1812 
was superficial. The war with Mexico a mere 
joke. The restless and growing energies of 


our people have for eighty years been 
turned toward the subjugation of nature. 
The continent has at length BUCCnmbed 
Our pioneers return disappointed and check- 
ed from the shores of the Pacific. The con- 
tinuity of the nation's dream has been inter- 
rupted. There are no more Kl Doradofl to 
explore, to waste and cast aside like brok- 
en toys. These vast and ungovernable ener- 
gies are now thrown back upon ns like a 
distemper driven from the surface into the 
blood. They are about to break out in 
civil war. A great foreign war would an- 
swer the purpose much better. \\ hat ■ 
pity we can not get up a foreign war! 
Yet Uncle Sam for some years paM seem 
to have been trying (like tin- hero of l>"i> 
nybrook Fair) to induce somebody to tread | 
oil his coat-tail. Hut other people know 
him better than he knows him-elf. 

When this war comes we are to be the 
borderers; whether it take* the form off 
regular and organized contest between go\ - 
ernments ami sections, or the more dread 
ful shape of social and anarchk butchery, 
this region will be the debatable ground. 

These fair and fertile fields will laid 

waste. Bleak chimneys rising from an a-h 
heap will mark the site of these pleasant 
homes. Kindred will be divided b\ the 
sword. Ancient friendships chaiu'r I t" 
bloody feuds; peace, security, and plenty 
give place to war, watchfulness, ami tarn 
ine. And yet no upright and sound-think- 
ing man can give a human reason why this 
war should be. There is not an interest 
involved which will not sutler shipwn . k 
by a resort to arms. There is not a moral 

or political principle Indited on by either p-irty 
which can not be more advantageously set 
by reason and forbearance — 

We are puppets Mali iu his pride and Beauty Lir In bar 

Do we move ourselves", or are we moved br an nan en hand 
at a game ?" 

The party press of the country is help- 
ing on the quarrel famously, while our gray- j 
beards at Washington are tapping their \cu- 
erable cocoa-nuts with the hope of extracting 
a few drops of the milk of human kindness 
wherewith to assuage the Mames. The news- 
papers are standing at either end of the fur- 
nace heaving in tar, pitch, rosin, petroleum, 
and bacon-sides, with most indefatigable and 
intelligent industry. Chateaubriand, who had 
seen revolutions enough to give his opinions 
some weight, was asked the cause of the pe- 
riodical revolutions in France. He replied, 

This is certainly an efficient and virulent 
agent in the revolution which is brewing here. 

The New York papers speak of the 

Southern people as "effete;" and there seems 
to be an impression prevailing generally in the 
North that the physique of the Southern people 
is deteriorated by a life of luxurious and dis-o- 


lute idleness. If the dnpj>cr Ideologic who en- 
tertain* such on idea should hapjten to come id 
contact with some hardy Southern mountain- 
eer earn ing a hundred and fifty |*«und l»u« k 
on hi* s!.. .ubb-r — nunc »tnrk and »inewv »wnmi> 

cr WWO in* *wivc! 01 a .in. king gun — some nnru- 
riding Tony Lumpkin of the rural gentry, tin 
prru* checulier of tournament*, coek-fighu, and 
quarter- rate*, he would presently find out who 
was *• effete.'" 

There U proliably not a population to he 
found who, by their habit* of life, occupations, 
and amusement*, are better fitted for »oldicri 
than that of the Southern State*. Horse* aud 
fire-arm* nrc their plaything* from childhood. 
Impatient of the restraints of lAool lOMII and 
work-shojH thev seek life and pleasure in the 
soil, and thu* early learn the topography of 
nature, the ways of the fields and forests, 
swamps, and mountain*. Their social and |h>- 
litical life, but little restrained by law or u«age. 
develops a vigorous individuality. For tin 
most part, ignorant of the luxuries and refine 
ments of cities, they prefer bacon and uhi*k; 
to venison and Champagne. Tall, athlctb . 
rough, and full of fire and vitality, the halt 
horse, half alligator type still predominates in 
the lower and middle classes of the South, 


while a more elegant but equally vigorous 
physique characterizes the polished, proud, 
subtle, ambitious, Avarlike, domineering class 
who will lead them. 

The Southern editors, on the other hand, 
jealous of assumed Northern pre-eminence in 
silly and brazen imposture, make haste to as- 
sure their readers that the people of the late 
United States are now a frantic mob of Yankees 
and abolitionists, manufacturers of wooden nut- 
megs and patent apple-peelers, seedy peda- 
gogues and brain-sick ideologists, and won't 
fight. Now if these adverse utterances are 
any thing more than the ravings of partisan 
passion — if the people of the sections do enter- 
tain such opinions of each other, it is high time 
they had a war. It will then be shown satis- 
factorily to both parties whether or not the 
hardy pioneers who have subjugated a rugged 
continent to the sons of the Vikings, who have 
driven the whales from the high seas, will 
fight, and whether or not the domineering lords 
of Southern soil and serfs arc effete. 

Although this people has been chiefly 

occupied in talking politics for eighty years or 
more, I can not perceive that they have made 
any advance toward enlightenment on the sub- 
ject. Not one man in ten of those I meet 
seems to have the slightest idea of where his 
duty or allegiance lies in the present crisis. 
This condition of things reminds me of Italy 
in former times, when popes, emperors, dukes, 
freebooters, municipalities, miracle - mongers, 
and dogmatists disputed for empire and the 
right of fleecing the distracted masses. Our 
people choose sides positively enough some- 
times, but they seem to be decided more by 
passion, prejudice, or interest than by any 
clearly-defined principle. The masses are cer- 
tainly adverse to the secession movement, yet 
they seem to be yielding to the revolution — 
yielding to arrogant assumption, terrorism, 
rather than a sense of right. 

Fort Sumter surrendered; the Presi- 
dent calls for seventy-five thousand men to 
suppress the insurrection. This is a great re- 
lief, as it brings the question to a decision, and 
puts an end to foolish speeches and arguments. 
It is at least a consolation to know that the Gov- 
ernment will not perish ignobly of inanition. 

There is a great amount of sentiment about 
brothers imbruing their hands in each other's 
blood, as if it was not the most invariable of 
natural laws that both love and hate attain 
their fullest measure by reason of propinquity. 
One who loves his neighbor's daughter and 
hates his rival over the way attains to a sub- 
limity of passion which could never be awak- 
ened by remoter objects. 

A border war at home — we have romance 

and ruin staring us in the face. Ten years ago 
I should not have thought it so great a misfor- 
tune. For me it comes too late ; I have no- 
thing left but to let the world wag — 

"I shall bury myself in my books, 
And the devil may pipe to his own." 


I had hoped the decisive results of the 

recent election would have quieted the ferment 
about secession in Virginia, but it seems not. 
The people appear uneasy and distrustful of 
those they have chosen to represent them. 
The reports from Richmond are unfavorable, 
they say. The Union delegates are parleying 
with their adversaries, arguing questions of 
States rights, and considering compromises. 
This does not satisfy the people. They wish 
the Convention to vote down the question of 
secession conclusively — to emphasize the ad- 
herence of Virginia to the Union under all cir- 
cumstances — then to adjourn and come home. 
They insist that unless this is done presently 
they will be betrayed and sold. 

It is reported that certain Secessionists 

in a neighboring county are arranging a plot 
to seize upon the Government arsenals at Har- 
per's Ferry. Several members of the Union 
Association at Martinsburg have applied to me 
to take command of five hundred volunteers, 
who are ready to march to the defense of the 
place against any unlawful attempts whatso- 
ever. I assured them that the United States, 
forewarned, would certainly take care of the 
place. It would also require a large sum to 
provision and maintain so many men for an 
uncertain time ; and it would be more judi- 
cious to hold themselves in readiness and not 
attempt to act until called on by the Govern- 
ment. In that case I promised to command 

April 18, 1861. — This morning I took, the 
cars at Sir John's for the purpose of visiting 
Charlestown on personal business. A stran- 
ger from the West who sat beside me opened 
conversation on the all-absorbing subject: 
Would Virginia secede ? I replied, somewhat 
dogmatically perhaps, "That she would not, 
and could not. " I then went on to explain to 
him the grounds for my assertion, the immense 
popular majority in the State opposed to it, the 
decided majority in the Convention against 


unreserved manner in which they detailed their 
plans seemed purpo-cly designed to implicate 
inc. at lca>t by appro\ ul. ami 1 »»> glad *hen 
a direct question afforded me the op|>ortuuit} 
of umlecci\ ing them. 

}\ aaked. M How ninny men can we bring 

from Martinsburg to sustain them?" 

I answered, " None Ml all : we are all I'nion 
men at Martinsburg. " This reply appeared to 
startle them, and was followed by an inter- 
change of ..ignifu ant glume* anion*: the |mrty. 

Ashhy then »aid that he had aUay* boon * 
sincere I'nion man heretofore, hut a* the action 
of the (icneral (iuu'mmrni ha»l already de- 
stroyed the Union he now felt hound lo -land 
I iy In- State. 

K wid that he tt»o always had l»een a 

I'nion man. and wan one now, but felt him«elf 
driven into the present movement a* the only 
means of preserving the I'nion. Although 1 
could n«»t |iervei»e the adaptation of the iucan» 
to the end. I wi*hcd him •u«T»n, 

The whiMle of the«n can 
atc«l a conversation which had bec« 
hurra»*ing. ami I to«»k lca»e «»f my ■ 
a nee* with decidedly le*a of cordiality 
lieen exhibited at our meeting. 

In noting around to the idatlorr 


ai nt- 

secession under any circumstances. The high 
personal and political character of that body. 
The impossibility of their betraying their con- 
stituents. Their pledges, their interests, their 
common sense forbid the supposition. They 
would never dare to face the people of Virginia 
With the stain of so dark a treachery on their 
souls. By the time the train readied llarper*- 
Ferry I had quieted the apprehension* of my 
fellow-passenger, and had argued my self into I 
very contented frame of mind. 

As we passed the Armory shops I observed 
they were closed. And the United States sol- 
diers there on duty (fifty Of sixty men; Hood 
in groups about the ground- apparently await- 
ing orders. As the train stopped OppOtta the 
hotel I missed the mob of idler- that u-ually 
crowded the platform, but remarked a collec- 
tion of half a do/en gentlemen standing near 
the steps which led to the telegraph office. 
While engaged in getting my baggage I heard 
my name called by one of the group, and on 
approaching recognized several acquaiutai 
whose presence there at that time struck DM 
as ominous. Among them m -re Captain EL 
Turner Ashhy and a stranger whom I after 
ward ascertained wa- Mr. .1. A. Scddon of 
Richmond. I felt aerated, from the anxiety 
expressed in their faces and the re-tle-~m «- i.t \\ : . -t. r and I'olnmar |{ailn»ad I l*eeame 
their manner, that some extraordinary oera awan for the tir«t tune thai ihe »trrct in front 
don had assembled them here; but I was not 
allowed much time for speculation, for a* Ash 
by advanced to shake hand- with me he -aid. 

"We are here in the name of the State of 
Virginia to take possession ,,t Harper- I t rry . 
Three thousand Virginians are matching to 
support us, and I am expecting their anrhral 
every moment. They should have bc< 
ere this. An Ordinance of Sece--ion ha- Inch 
passed by the Convention, and the Navy-yard 
at Norfolk is already in our hand-. '' 

I was so stunned by these revelations that I 
had scarcely breath to utter the usual and ap- 
propriate ejaculation of astonishment — "The 

Ashhy further stated that he had taken po- 
session of the telegraph otli. e, and then walk- 
ing to and fro and looking at his watch at 
every turn, gave vent to reiterated cxprcs-ions 
of impatience at the non-appearance of the ex- 
pected forces. 

As I rallied from the surprise into which I 
had been throw n by these sudden developments 
I began to wonder what the authorities at 
Washington were dreaming of, and why the 
Government troops were lying idle in their 
barracks. I saw but half a dozen men who 
seemed to be arranging their plans and await- 
ing reinforcements at their leisure. Why were 
they not immediately arrested or shot down | 

I also began to feel annoyed at finding my- 
self the recipient of these quasi-confidential 
communications from persons with whom I had 
formerly had agreeable social relations and some 

th |«eople, 

n gaged in a rough- 
mod with the u>ual 
limit to tin* Demo 


a number of whom * 
and tumble flight, am 
in a-e and hubbub np| 
cralic amusement. 

A by-Mander informed me that the crowd 
was OOanOttd chletly of (»o%ernmetit employe*, 
citizen* of the town at larire and from the »ur- 
rounding country. Lieutenant Jonea, in com- 
mand of the I nited State* troop*, had l»ccti 
endeavoring to culm the Armory men in the 
defense of the pln< • while Harbour, late aupcr- 
iutendent and member of the Contention, wa* 
there with other ncceacion demagogue*, en- 
deavoring lo induce them to join the Slate 
troop*, or at least to remain neutral during the 
exjKM ted attai k. The arti*au» in the employ 
of the (lovernment hud for several yearn |m*t 
l>ecn organized und c<|iiip|>cd for military nerv- 
i' e. and could have rcinfon ed the guard to the 
extent of three hundred men well drilled and 
skilled in the u-e of arm-. 

As the great majority of these men were not 
native Virginian-, but eitizeim of the country 
at large, depending upon the (leneral (. . • m 
ment for their means of support, and the jht- 
petuity of the Armory for the continued \alue 
of any local property they might have acquired, 
it is natural to -uppo<ic they would have eager- 
ly volunteered to resist a movement which 
menaced them with total and immediate ruin. 
But H a rpe r 's Kerry had !>ecn for a long time 
little other than a political stew, more occupied 
with the intrigues of di-trict politiciaas than 

affinity in political sentiment, but w hose present I devoted to the objects for which it had been 
position was abhorrent to me. The frank and I founded and maintained. The United State- 



officer found that he could not rely on any con- 
siderable number of them for assistance. Di- 
vision of opinion, drunkenness, confusion, and 
fisticuff fights were the only results obtained. 
The sight of this tumultuous crowd, however, 
explained to me why the small guard was kept 
quiescent in the Armory grounds. Without 
delaying longer to unravel this entanglement I 
took the train and proceeded to Charlestown. 
Here there was as much excitement as at Har- 
per's Ferry, but among a different class of peo- 
ple, and consequently less noisy and vulgar in 
its demonstrations. 

The Jefferson Volunteer Battalion, organ- 
ized and armed under pretexts founded on the 
John Brown affair, stood paraded in the street, 
in marching order. As almost every family in 
the county had one or more representatives in 
the ranks, there was a hurrying to and fro of 
mothers, sisters, sweet-hearts, wives, and chil- 
dren of the Volunteers, showing their agitation 
and excitement in the most varied and opposite 
forms. In a community so secluded, and so 
essentially Virginian, there could not be found 
many uninterested spectators on an occasion 
like this. Everybody was neighbor and cousin 
to every body else, and political dissension had 
not yet reached the point where it sears hearts 
and poisons the fountains of social sympathy. 
Even the negroes were jubilant in view of the 
parade and unusual excitement among their 
masters and mistresses. Yet I thought I could 
discern in the eyes, of some of the older and 
wiser woolly-heads a gleam of anxious specula- 
tion — a silent and tremulous questioning of 
the future. 

There were also some among the white citi- 
zens who stood aloof in silence and sadness, 
protesting against the proceeding by an occa- 
sional bitter sigh or significant sneer, but no- 
thing more. I recognized in the ranks some 
that I had known as Union men, whose rest- 
less and troubled looks seemed to question me 
as I passed. 

I had scarcely got through greeting the friends 
I had come to visit when I was waited on by 
Captain Lawson Botts, an officer of the reg- 
iment, a citizen highly esteemed for his general 
intelligence and probity, and known as a de- 
cided and uncompromising opponent of seces- 
sion doctrines. Calling me aside, in a manner 
which evidenced great and painful excitement, 
he asked "what I thought of the present state 
of affairs ?" I replied by asking what was the 
meaning of this martial array, and why I saw 
him armed and equipped as a participator? 
He said that Ashby and Seddon had arrived 
that morning from Richmond, and, in the name 
of the Governor of Virginia, had ordered the 
regiment to which he belonged to assemble and 
march immediately on Harper's Ferry, to take 
possession of the United States armories and 
arsenals there, and hold them for the State. I 
then gave him an account of my conversation 
with Ashby and his colleagues, and what I had 
seen at Harper's Ferry. 

As these gentlemen had unadvisedly, per- 
haps, communicated their plans to me, I might 
under ordinary circumstances have felt averse 
to saying or doing any thing calculated to 
thwart them. I had determined not to med- 
dle with public affairs, and did not care to ex- 
hibit any officious zeal in a matter respecting 
which the Government was doubtless better 
informed than myself. Yet there was a nearer 
view of the subject. If any thing I could say 
would prevent Captain Botts, or any of my 
young friends and kinsmen whom I had seen 
under arms, from taking a step which I was 
assured would be fatal to them, I certainly 
would not permit any trifling punctilio to in- 
terfere with a full expression of my views. I 
told him that I considered the whole movement 
an atrocious swindle, contrived by a set of des- 
perate and unprincipled conspirators at Rich- 
mond, who, fearing that their treasonable 
schemes would be denounced by the people at 
the polls, had determined to plunge the State 
irrevocably into a war Avith the General Gov- 
ernment without allowing an opportunity for 
the expression of popular opinion on the ques- 

I did not believe the statements made to me 
at Harper's Ferry in regard to the passage of 
an act of Secession by the Convention and the 
seizure of the Norfolk Navy-yard. There was 
no public information that either of these events 
had occurred, and it was impossible that these 
gentlemen, who had come by the inland route 
from Richmond, could have knowledge of oc- 
currences at Norfolk in advance of the tele- 
graph. On the other hand, it was clearly evi- 
dent that they were agents of the Revolution- 
ary Committee, whose business it was to pre- 
cipitate the events referred to by accomplishing 
the seizure of Harper's Ferry. Moreover, what 
does it signify if all the agencies of the State — 
Governor, Legislature, and Convention com- 
bined — should order you to draw your sword 
against your country. Can you feel yourself in 
any manner bound to obey such an order ? Does 
it not rather prove to you that those whom 
the people have intrusted with the management 
of their State affairs have themselves turned 
traitors and are conspiring against our common 
Government ? So far from feeling it my duty 
to obey under such circumstances, I would, if 
I had control of these troops, march them to 
Harper's Ferry and, without hesitation, arrest 
and imprison every man I found there engaged 
in this infernal business, and then offer my 
services to the United States Government for 
the defense of the place. I believed that such 
action would be not only right and justifiable 
in itself, but would be highly applauded by 
the people of Virginia. Unless this rebellious 
movement was immediately met with some such 
decisive counteraction we would presently find 
both our State and country involved in revolu- 
tionary anarchy, with a future of irretrievable 

Without hoping to obtain his acquiescence 



in my extreme views, I was nevertheless grati- 
fied to perceive that what I said made its im- 
pression upon Captain Botts. Educated at ■ 
Southern college, the narrow political ideal M 
sedulously inculcated at those schools "till com- 
bated the more liberal and national tcai hings 
of his maturer life. His social sympathies and 
soldierly pride were also enlisted in the strug- 
gle against his clearer and higher sense of duty 
to his country. Thanking me OOWrteOUSty fot 
my frankness he left me for a time, and I saw 
him engaged in earnest and excited conversa- 
tion with some of his brother-ofh< cr>. Pr< t* 
ently he returned and asked if I would repeat 
to the field-officers of the regiment what 1 had 
said to him. 

I consented without hesitation, and accom- 
panied him to a private room, where I nui 
Colonel Allen and some others 1 lu re re- 
peated substantially what I had -aid t<> Captain 
Botts — with somewhat more of reserve iu lan- 
guage, however, as I was not so well acquaint- 
ed with the gentlemen present. I was heard 

with respect and evident emotion, a printed 

proclamation, which had been circulated h\ the 
Richmond emissaries, was brought iu and sub- 
jected to critical discussion. It was a call 
upon the volunteer military and the people 
generally to rise and protect their honor, their 
property, and their rights, by seizing the nation- 
al arsenals at Harpers Ferry. It recited the 
passage of the Secession Ordinance and the 
seizure of the Norfolk Nav\ yard, and was 
signed by Turner Ashby, claiming to aet bv 
order of the Governor of Virginia. ( >u ex.mi 
ination it was pronounced TnTfTrltnvltWJ, and 
Colonel Allen declared that unless he had 
some better authority his regiment should Htf 
move. He, moreover, became excited at the 
suggestion that there was an attempt to pnK 
tice deception by the State agents; and de- 
clared that if they had dared to deceive him he 
would hold them to personal account. 

Acquaintances of Messrs. Ashby and Seddon 
insisted that they were honorable men. and 
that their personal statements bad been ue tt 
clear and conclusive than the printed circular. 

I asserted broadly that I did not believe ei- 
ther what they had said or what was published. 
, and that in times like the present I would trust 
no man's word or honor who was acting with 
the revolutionary junto, whatever might ha\e 
been his previous character. 

After some further discussion it was determ- 
ined by the Colonel that the regiment should 
move to Halltown, the appointed place of ren- 
dezvous, but they should go no further m 
he obtained more satisfactory authority from 
the State Government. 

I was disappointed at this conclusion, for I 
telt assured that, once at the rendezvous, intlu- 
ences would be brought to bear which would 
carry Colonel Allen forward in spite of himself- 
and as he was disposed to acknowledge the 
validity of an order from a State officer com- 
manding him to make war on the United States 

I did not doubt he would be s|»eedily furnished 
with such authority. 

Although apparently acquiescing in the Col- 
onel's decision. I could jK'neixe (bat Captain 
Botts was as much disappointed a-* mw'll, and 
before parting he urged urn to at company them 
to the rendezvous, with the expression of a 
vague hope that I might use mine influence, 
even there, to avert the commission of a deed 
which he abhorred from bis inmost soul. 1 
promised to follow them. The regiment moved 
off, and after dinner I walked down the turn- 
pike to Halltown, four miles distant iron, 
Charleston u. Here I found the troop* halted, 
awaiting reinforcement*, which were re|>ortcd 
; on the march from various quarter* to join them. 

By this time I bad satisfactorily weighed the 
element* by which I » .i- surrounded, rend con 
cluiled not to meddle further with the business 
mile** formally railed u|*.n for (oiiiih'I. Si I 
sat ajuirt and amused myself »kctching the an- 

imated an«l pietuie.qu nr. In sb ur*c 

of the afternoon several of ihc expected com- 
panies arrived. Captn.n A»hby and Mr. Scd- 
don hud nunc up from Harper's Kerry, while 
Dick Ashby, a brother of the Captain, had ar- 
med from Fauquier with a una II squad of 
cavalry. An earnest and excited di*cu»*ion 
among the leader* wa» kept up for a long tunc, 
and while some countenance* appeared vexed 
with doubt and indecision, other* lowered wiib 
anger and dis*ati»faction. I waa not invited 
to join the council, but Csjuld cattily divine the 
trouble. Ashby, who had greeted mo so frank- 
ly in the morning, now passed with averted 
face. As we supped together at a neighboring 
farm-house he studiously avoided exchanging 
{ word* or look* with me. I was glad that we 
had uudenttood each other without the seandal 
of an ojhmi quarrel. This »eed, however, bore 
evil fruit at u future day. 

While wo were at table a courier arrived 
from the direction of Winchester, man and 
horse bespattered with mud aud rceliujc with 
fatigue. On opening hi* dispatch Ashby » 
cloudy brow cleared, and ruing hastily from 
hi* chair he handed the paper to Colonel Al- 
ien. A* he read it Allen aUo sprung to his 
feet, and turning to me said, cheerily, "Now 
I can aet with a clear conscience. Here ia a 
paper I can recognize, a peremptory order to 
seize Harper * Ferry, with the « . rt i < i.d indole 
incut of the Adjutant-General the State.'* 

The arrival of this pa|»er mtmiciI to have 
satisfied all scruples ami dispelled all doubts. 
Spurs jingled, sabres rattled, horse* neighed, 
and the voices of officers were beard in even 
direction marshaling their troop*. The men, 
flattered with the idea of being foremost In the 
enterprise, sprung to arms and formed their 
column with alacrity. 

It was quite dark, and as I passed out of the 
house Captain liott* took mv arm. and iu an 
agitated manner inquired what I thought now 
of the posture of affairs. 

I asked if he was sure the offer which had 



arrived was not a forgery. He was fully as- 
sured of its authenticity. I then went on to 
repeat the views and arguments I had exhib- 
ited in the morning, urging them with still 
greater vehemence of manner, and, if possible, 
in stronger language. 

Admitting that he chose to recognize a right 
which I did not — the right of the Convention 
to pass an act of secession — this act could have 
no validity, even under the assumption of le- 
gality upon which it was based, until accepted 
and confirmed by a formal vote of the people. 
That vote had not been taken. It could not 
lawfully be taken for thirty days after the pas- 
sage of an ordinance of secession by the Con- 
vention. The people of Virginia would never 
confirm such an act by their vote. The pro- 
posed movement on Harper's Ferry was there- 
fore not only a treasonable attack upon the 
Government of the country, but it was also a 
most atrocious outrage and fraud upon the 
people of Virginia. In electing the Conven- 
tion the people had demanded the right to con- 
sider and pronounce upon its action. By this 
rash and unauthorized move the people were 
betrayed, their rights trampled upon, and by 
those whom they had trusted with their guard- 

"Yet I hold my commission from the State, 
and am bound to obey the orders of the Gov- 
ernor," said the Captain. "What would you 
have me to do ?" 

I answered with heat : "Can any miserable 
local functionary have the right to order a free 
citizen to commit a crime against his country ? 
Can you feel bound to obey an order which in- 
volves so flagrant a violation both of State and 
National law ; of all faith and honor both to 
Government and people ? Does your commis- 
sion bind you to this extent ? If so, you should 
tear it to shreds and throw it to the winds." 

My friend listened without essaying to re- 
ply, but sat with his elbows resting on his knees 
and covering his face with his clenched hands. 

When I concluded he rose, and in a voice 
of anguish exclaimed : " Great God ! I would 
willingly give my life to know at this moment 
what course I ought to pursue, and where my 
duty lies!" With this he hurried to join the 
column, which was already in motion. 

I had intended to go no further than Hall- 
town, but the entrancement of curiosity and 
interest was irresistible, and I continued to fol- 
low the march of the troops at a short distance. 
The stars twinkled clear and chill overhead, 
while the measured tread of the men and an 
occasional half-whispered word of command 
were the only sounds that broke the stillness 
of the night. It was an awful opportunity for 

The column was suddenly brought to a halt 
by the peremptory and startling challenge of a 
sentinel in the road. It was too dark to see 
what was going on, but I presently heard the 
order given to load with ball-cartridge, follow- 
ed by the ringing of ramrods and clicking of 

musket-locks. The leading company then fix- 
ed bayonets, and forming across the turnpike, 
swept forward at a double quick. The chal- 
lengers had retired, and the column resumed 
its march. At the toll-gate near Alstadt's 
they were again challenged and halted, with 
the same result. 

Here I overtook an acquaintance who was 
following the column in a buggy, and feeling 
fatigued from my walk, accepted the vacant 
seat beside him. He professed himself greatly 
distressed at the proceedings, and said he had 
done all in his power to stop them, but without 
avail. I told him I had "said my say," and 
did not intend to meddle further with the busi- 
ness, yet, from present appearances, it was 
possible there would be a fight. I suggested 
that during the tremor which immediately pre- 
cedes decisive action men are sometimes more 
willing to accept reasonable counsel, and con- 
jured him to use his influence (which I knew 
was great) to stop the movement. 

He said it was useless to attempt further in- 
terference, as every thing had been ordered 
and determined by high authority. He was 
doubtless better informed than I, at that time, 
of the power and deep design which directed 
the movement. 

The troops were now marching up the south- 
ern slope of the hill, since called Bolivar Heights, 
the crest of which was covered with pine woods 
and dense thickets of undergrowth, and fur- 
nished a favorable position from which to resist 
their advance. From certain unmistakable 
symptoms I concluded that very little force 
would have been required to drive back the 
raw soldiers and morally irresolute men who 
composed the advancing column. I expected 
momentarily to hear the opening volley from 
the summit, and advised my companion to drive 
his wagon aside from the line of fire. To my 
surprise the march was unmolested, and they 
moved on to the cemetery at the forks of the 
road above the village of Bolivar. Here an- 
other challenge halted them for the third time. 

Meanwhile emissaries from the town had 
brought information that the Armory employes 
and citizen volunteers had joined the United 
States troops, and would assist in defending 
the place. Taking advantage of this unrelia- 
ble report I again urged my companion to at- 
tempt some interference which might avert the 
impending calamity. The defenders would 
now have the advantage in numbers as well as 
in the superior skill and hardihood of the men. 
An attempt to seize the national property must 
surely result in bloodshed and disaster, filling 
our Whole district with mourning, and entail- 
ing upon those engaged the double dishonor 
of unsuccessful treason. While we were talk- 
ing a group of the leaders came riding to the 
rear, engaged in high discussion. I heard 
Colonel Allen say, in a peremptory tone, that 
his men should not move another step. 

It appeared that instead of three thousand 
men expected by Ashby, only three hundred 



boxes of hard bread on their shoulders or trun- 
clliu^r >n wheel-barrow s. 

Taking advantage of the hr>t opportunity 
that had otiered during their lixes perhaps, 
these people seem to hate entered ujn»n the 
work of sacking and plundering a* prompt!.* 
and skillfully as veteran *oldicrs could have 
done, where from Leon* Wide thai tins propens- 
ity is inlu -rent in the human charaeter. and 
only awaits opportunity lor development. The 
ground around the hurniug buildings wu» glitter- 
ing with splinter- of glav» which had been blown 
out by the explosion ot gutipovvdcr used to ig- 
nite the fire*. The streets in the vi« nitty weic 
silent and vacant, the train of plunderers from 
the sh i < avo ding ll -' n ute 1 I •■ k u.y -» it 
njK.n a barrel and commenced sketching the 
scene by tire-light, when a man called to me 
from a distance adxising me to 
pla< e wa* mined and wouk 
I thanked him. but 
nice, a* 1 thouirht a 

blown up. 

This i 
of the i 
kept my 


in apparent security the drvad 
■h»«:oU irra.luallv disiyi* «rv.! 

and forty had been assembled, including t he 
cavalry and some artillerists, with an old iron 
6-pounder from Charlestown. At QaUtOWO 
the paucity of numbers wns overlooks! m the 
eagerness to seize the virgin honors of the en- 
terprise. Now, when within musket-shot, more 
prudent counsels were entertained. A little 
less glorv and a few more men would answer 
the purpose quite as well. It was not a tight 
they were seeking, but the possesion of Har- 
per's Ferry, with its supplies of arms and valu- 
able machinery. If this purpose could he bet- 
ter accomplished without bloodshed, why not 
wait for the reinforcements BOH on their WSJ 1 
Colonel Hannan, of Augusta, who had arrived 
since dark, reported them to he hastening f"i 
ward from all points up the Valley. Mr. Bed 
don said, as he was not a man of war he eould 
not advise in the premises. Hut II Al!< n - 
command comprised nearly the whole tor., 
present his decision was generally ae.pih- , d 
in. Ashby alone seemed impaiieiit and « 1 i — 
satisfied with the proposed delay. W hile the 
officers were thus discoursing and looking to 
ward the town there was a sudden tla>h that 
illuminated for miles around the romantic g"tv 
where the rivers meet. Then followed a dull 
report, reverberating from mountain to mount- 
ain until it died away in a sullen roar. Tin- 
flashes and detonations were several tiuu - re 
pcated ; then a steadier llaine was -ecu rising 
from two distinct points, silently and rapidh The j>cople were for the flMMl 
increasing in volume until each roek and tree tied w it It terror, t hens helmed w 
on the Loudon and Maryland Heights were tlis either did uot know who was rt 
tinctly visible, and the now overclouded sk\ were afraid to speak their thought* 
was ruddy with the sinister glare. This o< J ally a womau would u«e the pri 
currcd, 1 think, between and I < * o\ 1... k p.m. 
For the moment all was excitement and con 
lecture. Some thought they had heard artil 
lery, while others declared the l'otoinae bridge 
had been blown up. The ui> > r- • skillful pres- 
ently guessed the truth, and concluded that 
the officer in command had -et tire fee the- ar- 
senals and abandoned the town. Ashby mi 
mediately dashed down the hill at the h .id . t 
his cavalry to reconnoitre and ascertain the 
facts. The idea that there was to be no tight 
Beemed to aft'ord very general relief. Ms sym- 
pathy with this feeling was mingled with a 

deep sense of humiliation, in knowing that my and thither in high ex 
Government had yielded so rich a prize to the bhxid ami thunder again' 
revolution upon so feeble a demonstration. | concern. Chief among 

Quietly withdrawing from the circle of ac- 
quaintances with whom I was converging. I 
walked down to the town alone, by the BolrW 
Road. The Old Arsenal building- on Shctian- 



around the (ires, 
out the engine* at 
the tlatnc* at the 

Sotuc of the wn 
1 succeeded in eat 


sex and open her miud pretty frrch, abusing 
Yankees and Southerners alternately, and con- 
signing l*oth )■ irties to the hott<>tn of the n»cr. 

When at length it sremed to lie definitely 
:i»n rt.iim ! that t r . . r « - t. no mine* to U« ex- 
ploded a noisier and more demonstrative com- 
pany of actors nj | « .i ted on the stage. These 
were the chronic loafers who used to crowd the 
bar-rooms discusjung local politics and strong 
drinks, who were regular attendants on the 
platform on the arrival of the passenger trains, 
and prominent men about elections. These 
fellows were armed to the teeth, and ran hither 

itcment, threatening 

concern. Chief among them was a Ute civil 
functionary of the county, well known in former 
times. Reeking with dirt und whisky Un- 
worthy paraded the street* armed like a war 
mandarin of the Celestial Umpire, earning a 

doah Street and several of the shops in the! rifle with sabre bayonet on cither shoulder 

Armory inelosure on Potomac Street were in 
full blaze. The road was alive with men. wo- 
men, and children hurrying to and fro. laden 
With spoils from the work-shops and soldier*' 
barracks. There were women with their arm- 
full of muskets, little girls loaded with shea\ e- 
of bayonets, boys dragging cartridge-boxes and 
cross-belts enough to equip a platoon, men with 
barrels of pork or flour, kegs of molasses and 

girt about with a l>elt containing several addi- 
tional baxouets of the old pattern. 

For .-"tie- time I was in doubt a- to which 
side of the question these fellow s had c-j. .u-e.l. 
but at length the tendency of their sympathies 
was developed by a furious discussion as to 
whether they should pursue Lieutenant Jones, 
who was said to be retreating with his men to- 
ward Hngcrstowu, or whether they should go 



down to Washington forthwith and "jerk old 
Abe Lincoln out of the White House." The 
majority in council having determined on sacri- 
ficing the Lieutenant, they started for the Poto- 
mac bridge with frightful yells and many for- 
midable gesticulations. 

A bv-stander happening to suggest that the 
bridge might possibly be mined, they considered 
the question and concluded that Jones was not 
a bad fellow after all, and had only obeyed the 
orders of his rascally Government. Whereupon 
they retired, in search of more ammunition 

As the night advanced the streets l>ccame 
more crowded with people from the town and 
neighborhood, but up to the Lour of midnight 
no troops except Ashby's squad of horse had 
made their appearance. By one o'clock the 
fires had sunk in ashes when, gloomy, chilled, 
and fatigued, I sought a bed at the house ol" an 

As I ascended the hill I met Colonel Allen"* 
regiment coming down. From over exertion 
and excitement I did not sleep soundly, and 
was frequently disturhed during the light DJ 
the sound of drums and the tramp of peering 

April 19. — On going down into the town this 
morning I found that there had I. ecu consider- 
able accessions to the State forces, seven or 
eight hundred having arrived during the night 
and morning, while as many more were re 
ported on the way. 

Confusion reigned supreme, ably seconded 
by whisky. The newly-arrived troops having 
nothing to cat, consoled themselves as usual by 
getting something to drink. Parties were de 
tailed to search the houses for the arms ami 
public property which had been carried off. the 
evening before. This search was stoutly re- 
sisted by the women, who skirmished after 
their fashion with the guard, with tongue and 
broomstick, holding them at bey while their 
husbands endeavored to conceal the spoils the\ 
had acquired. 

A rough estimate of the night's work showed 
that about sixteen thousand muskets had per- 
ished by the burning of the arsenals, and that 
one building (the carpenter shop) of the Poto- 
mac Armory had also been destroyed. 

On the other hand, several thousand new 
rifles and muskets complete, with all the costly 
material and machinery of the National Armory, 
had passed into the power of the revolution 
without a blow. 

Such were the visible and material results, 
but the social and political consequences who 
could estimate ? 

I must confess that I felt this morning like a 
man wandering in a maze. The future ex- 
hibited but a dim and changing vista. Wai 
the experiment of popular government indeed 
a failure, as our conservatives had been pre- 
dicting from the commencement ? Was Mae- 
aulay right when he said that our system would 
crumble into anarchy upon the first serious trial? 

If the present Government of the United 
States, as many maintain, and as its own atti- 
tude of late seems to admit, has neither the 
right to punish pri\y conspiracy, nor the power 
to defend itself against factious aggression, then 
why should we regret its overthrow ? Let the 

Impotent Imposture perish, ami the AjdsjH 

people will sjK?edily establish a more r- : 
hie and manly system on its ruins. 

While indulging in these sim ulations my at- 
tention was directed to tin- flag-stall w hich stood 
in the yard of the Old Arsenal. The national 
standard had been lowered, and in its place 
Moated the State tlag of Virginia. 

It would l>e ditliciilt to dc«cril>e the mingled 
emotions excited in my mind by thin hi tuple 


Once in my early youth I visited the crater 
of Vesuvius, and. venturing down the interior 
slope for some distance. I f und myself «|m»ii a 
projecting etfaf of lavn. Here I sI«hmI for a 
time looking curiou«d\ down upon the »ca • t 
smoke that concealed r\ery thing annind and 
beneath, w hen .1 -'el 1 ' i 1 ' • ' led the clomU 
awav and for a moment iu\ c\e* beheld the 
hideous gull' that vanned Udow. A pit whose 
sulphurous horror* and immeasurable depth 
were revealed only by the glare of lurid flumes 
and boiling lavn — whose appalling a*|K*ct |wtra« 
lyzed the senses like the gnup of s nightman*. 
A sight which memory n«*wr recall* without 
the shudder that accompanied its fir»t revela- 

So it seemed that the sudden gu*t of emo- 
tion, excited by the lowering of our -tarry ti tg. 
had swept away the tni*ts of upcculatioii and 
revealed in its depth mid breadth the abyss "t 
degradation opened \>\ sccc»»ion. 

Yesterday I wa* a citizen of the grent Amer- 
ican republic. My country •.panned a conti- 
nent. Her northern bonier m ar. I tl ■ fug 1 
zone while her southern limit touched tho 
tropics. Her eastern and her western -hor«-* 
were washed h\ the V-y> great ocenn* ol the 
globe. Her commerce covering the ino*t re- 
mote seas, her Mag honored in e\cry land. 
The strongest nation aeknowb dge,| her power, 
and the most enlightened honored her attain- 
ments in art. science, and literature. 

Her political system, the cherished ideal to- 
ward whose realization the noblest aspirations 
and cMbrts of men kind have been directed for 
ages. The great cxj>criment which the pure 
and wise of all nations are watching w ith trem- 
bling solicitude and imperishable hope. It wa<> 
something to belong to such a nationality. 
Something to be able, in following one's busi- 
ness or pleasure, to travel to and fro without 
question or hindianct, to take rcd-fis|, in the 
Mexican Gulf or trout in the great lakes, to 
chase deer in the Alleghanies or adventure 
among grizzly bears in the Rocky Mountains, 
and every where to remember, as you inflated 
vour lungs with the free air, "This i- rnv coun- 

It was something, when questioned of one's 




nationality in foreign lands, perhaps by Um 
subjeet of a petty monarchy or obscure princi- 
pality, the impoverished and degraded fraction 
of a once powerful empire, ruined l-y the mud- 
ness of faction, local ignorance, ami MCOMiOII 
[t was something, in replying to mu Ii inquiry, 
to feel one's heart swelling with imperial pride 
such as moved the ancient Roman in tin- days 
when he could quell the insolence of barbaric 
with the simple announcement, "( 

arrival ; but the opinions it typified rankled 
for some time alter and borv troublesome 

On Sunday, April 1M. in pursuance of im- 
portant private business, 1 went from ('hurley- 
town to Harper'* Fern-, and thence by the train 
to Baltimore. As Man lead was at that time 
supposed to Ik? one of the elf* t. and Baltimore, 
bv the acts of the lDth, had earned the right 


Romanus su///." 

This was yesterday. 
A citizen of Virginia 

and that 
had man 
At l Ik 



To-day. what am I? 
Virginia, a petty com- 
monwealth with scarcely a miDiOfl of white in- 
habitants. "What could she ever hope to be 
but a worthless fragment of the broken vase? 
A fallen and splintered column of the once 
glorious temple. 

But I will not dwell longer on the humilia- 
ting contrast. Come harness up tin- I u.-y 
and let us get out of this or I shall suffocate. 

On our way to ('harle-j.iw u we met greet 
numbers of persons afoot, on boraebiek, an i M I tation. t 
wheels, hurrying to tin- scene of exc itement. 
Some attracted simply bv curiosity, other* 
armed and i\ .•. . 1 to claim a 
share of the glory after the danger wafl o\er. 
My friend and 1 discoursed mournfully of the 
prospect before us and the country. Indeed 
there was nothing in the subjeet ealeulated to 
promote cheerfulness, lb- IiojhmI that the great 
change might be accompli*hed w ithout w .u I 
neither believed in the possibility of such ft re- 
sult, nor did I wish it. Of the great twin „ 
crning powers in human society -Fraud and 
Force — I decidedly preferred the latter. I was 
wearied and disgusted with the reign of subtle 
phrasemongers ami empty babbK rs, and hailed 
the dawn of an era which promised to develop 
the latent manhood of the nation, and sweep 
away the cobwebs of tricky ami • otupromisiug 
politicians with sword and tire. 

April 20, Charleston' «.- I'o lay • ■■<■ :< >< w I 
continuation of the passage ol the ordinance of 

Secession by the Virginia t'omention. 1 
was followed by news of the riot! of the I'.nh 
in Baltimore, and the destruction of the Navy 
yard at Norfolk. 

Under these accumulating proofs of the ina- 
bility or unw illingness of the General Govern- 
ment to defend itself the arrogant eontideuee 
of the Secessionists continued to increase, while 
the Unionists exhibited a corresponding depres- 
sion. Every hour brought accessions to the 
forces at Harper's Ferry. The volunteer com- 
panies from the adjoining counties were gath- 
ered in without the slightest regard to the po- 
litical views of officers or men. The Border 
Guard of Martinsburg, a fine company, whose 
Captain and seven-eighths of WftOM nu mbers 
were decided Union partisans, at tir-t made 
some difficulty about obeying the Governor's 
order; but at length, mystified by subtle coun- 
sels, they agreed to march to Harper's Fen v 
with the United States Hag flying. A> mav bi 
supposed the flag was soon furled after their 

to be regarded as a t 
railroad eommunicallMI 
At the station* near 
wildest rumors of tight 
The cone 
of 1'ennsvl 


the city 
1 going 1 





me tl 

»i\ thousand Mi 

be Camden Street dcjV.t I met Captain 
of the I'm ted Slatea navy, with whom 
anged salutations, lie scented in a 
al of nendcxitv. and. after some hc»i- 


that he did not know who to truM. He 

of a 
nd a 

on the next 
to protect it, 1 
the officer into 
bv the rabble. 




it »liould wave in the face of the 
whole city; but a* vie are helplcM 1 do not 
v»i»h the flag ex|«»sed to insult." We rla«|*ed 
hai : . and 1 promised the me»«agc thould be 
duly delivered. A* I walked up street carry- 
ing my traveling sack I was accosted by men 


1 d 

startling rumor*. Ilaq*cr'» Ferry wa» oen 
by fifteen thousand V irginian*, with thirty piece* 
of artillery. I>cc was on Arlington II* igbu 
preparing to tiombard Washington ; while .U if 
l>a\is, at the head of fifty thouaaud men, waa 
marching on that doomed city — these were the 
jubilant goUmomrkem : others in mortal terror 
followed me to learn when the Virginia army 
was coming to relieve Baltimore, now threat- 
ened by a hundred thousand Aholitioui«t«, de- 
termined; to sack and burn it in revenge lor 
the affair of the ll»lh. I said what I could to 
chasten the ftepei and soothe the fear* of these 
good people, and kept on my way. 

Throughout the town every thing evidenced 
alarm and excitement. Men and boy* were 
running wildly about united with swords, horse- 


pistols, fowling-pieces, bowie-knives, and every 
imaginable weapon of offense. At first I saw 
them singly or in small parties, anon they 
marched by in organized companies and even 
battalions. On Baltimore Street crowds were 
collected in front of hardware stores and shops, 
where fire-arms are sold, crushing in the doors 
and helping themselves to every thing that 
would answer for a weapon. Axes, scythes, 
hatchets, sword-canes, pitchforks, were distrib- 
uted to the eager and half-frantic mobs. In 
addition to the weapons and utensils thus vio- 
lently obtained there was a reasonable amount 
of promiscuous stealing of matters pertaining to 
the commissary rather than the ordnance de- 
partment. Tobacco, whisky, jewelry, and, an 
article which in all civilized countries is recog- 
nized as the main-spring of war, money. 

To these proceedings the city police appeared 
to make but a demonstrative resistance, occa- 
sionally firing a volley from their revolvers in 
the air, which only served to increase the tur- 
bulence of the mob, and evidenced that these 
guardians of law and order were either too 
timid to act, or were themselves in sympathy 
with the rioters. 

In following up Captain K 's directions 

for the purpose of delivering the message with 
which I was intrusted, I at length found myself 
at the head-quarters of the volunteer medical 
staff, hastily improvised to succor those who 
were expected to fall in the great battle that 
was to be fought. There were two or three 
wash-tubs full of lint, a barrel or two of rolled 
bandages, splints, tourniquets, and cases of bale- 
ful knives, hooks, and probes lying open and 
all ready for use. The cruel and cold-blooded 
aspect of these apartments was softened by the 
presence of tables covered with sandwiches, 
cold fowls, sliced tongue, and pickles, flanked 
by decanters of whisky and baskets of Cham- 

Ignoring the patent lint and scientific cutlery 
I took a young surgeon's advice, gratuitously 
proffered, and helped myself to Champagne 
and sandwiches. I here learned that all com- 
munication with the North had been cut off 
by the burning of the railroad bridges, and 
that the city had risen in arms to drive back 
the Pennsylvanians "en route via Cockeysville" 
for Baltimore and the Federal Capital. No col- 
lision had yet been reported, but the surgeons 
waited in momentary expectation of a call for 
their services. 

After some further search I at length found 
an opportunity to deliver the message with which 
I had been intrusted, and thus ended the ad- 
ventures of the day. 

Owing to the condition of the city, and the 
stoppage of communication with the North, I 
found it impossible to conclude my business as 
speedily as I had hoped. I therefore took 
quarters at the house of a friend, determined 
to bide my time, and meanwhile to amuse my- 
self observing the march of events. 

On Mondav, 22d of April, the excitement 
Vol. XXXIII. —No. 193.— B 

still continued, the mobs occasionally brea 
into shops in search of arms. 

The battle of Cockeysville did not take place 
as was expected. The Pennsylvanians, who 
were for the most part unarmed and altogether 
unprepared for a warlike encounter, had re- 
ceived warning of the proceedings in Balti- 
more, and prudently halted. The Baltimore- 
ans suspended their attack until the result of 
certain negotiations with the authorities at 
Washington should be known. It was finally 
conceded that these troops should turn back 
and reach the Federal city by another route. 
The immediate cause of the popular outburst 
having been removed by this acquiescence, the 
excitement began visibly to subside ; and al- 
though the revolutionary faction had still ab- 
solute control of the city, symptoms of a sweep- 
ing reaction had begun to manifest themselves. 
Nevertheless, during the week that followed, 
the national flag was nowhere displayed, and 
on the street every body talked secession if 
they expressed any opinion at all. Around 
Barnum's were congregated a number of sinis- 
ter-looking fellows, who publicly boasted of the 
part they had taken in the affair of the nine- 
teenth. Among these I recognized several 
border ruffians of Kansas notoriety. Volun- 
teer companies still paraded the streets under 
the State flag of Maryland, yet it was evident 
that more discreet and methodical heads were 
directing affairs. Disorder and violence were 
repressed. The wild volunteers were organized 
and shut up in barracks where they could do 
no immediate mischief, and where their super- 
fluous enthusiasm might be cooled off by hard 
drilling, guard-duty, and uncomfortable beds. 
For this judicious management of these dan- 
gerous elements I believe Maryland was some- 
what indebted to Colonel Huger of South Caro- 
lina, then of the United States army. 

Meanwhile the under current of loyal feeling 
was becoming every day more decided. The 
best men in Maryland were known to be un- 
swerving in their determination to support the 
nationality, while hundreds, who, under the 
sudden excitement and confusion of ideas in- 
cident to the times, had seemed to acquiesce 
or had actually joined in the late movement, 
believing they were called upon to defend the 
city from attack, now, upon reflection, per- 
ceived the ruin to which they were inadvert- 
ently hastening, and turned their backs on it. 
The leaders of the movement began to be 
alarmed at this aspect of affairs. One of 
them, a local politician, meeting an acquaint- 
ance from Virginia on the street expressed 
himself thus despairingly, "Damn it, the ex- 
citement is going down, they are all caving in ; 
if something is not done to keep it up we are 
all ruined. Can't you tell me some exciting 
news? something that I may publish to keep 
the people moving? I don't care a damn 
whether it is true or not — if it is only suf- 
ficiently stimulating." 

It was thus easy to perceive that Baltimore 



was in the hands of the same sort of people 
who had played so successful and so fatal a 
game in Virginia and other Southern States j 
and notwithstanding these indications of a popu- 
lar reaction, it was evident that the Ma: \ laud 
conspirators did not intend to reKnquiafa their 
grasp upon the authority which they bad >,-i/.cd 
by surprise and violence, or slacken in their 
efforts to drag their State into the rortejl of 
secession. Shortly after the affair of the 21ft 
a quantity of small-arms were forwarded t<> 
the city from Harpers Ferry. Thi revolu- 
tionary forces were strengthened DJ volunteer 
companies from toe rural districts, and impos- 
ing reviews were held daily: while the most 
absurd and incredible reports of tbe conduct Of 
the national troops moving through Maryland 
via Annapolis were industriously circulated tO 
keep up the irritation of the popular mind. 

On the 27th of April I met a friend who was 
on his way to Annapolis for tbe purpose of 
visiting his son, then a cutlet in the N.ixal 
Academy. I was easily persuaded |Q 10000 
jtany him, and at an early hour we took the 
steamer for that place. 

As we passed Fort If Henry tbe nati ml flag 
was displayed from the boat in response to 
which floated over the fort, \\hib« • 
were given and returned with urn t ion. Tbe 
emotion excited by tbis ineident awakened 
historic memories. It was the right of the flag] 
floating over the ramparts of Ftirt M'lloBI) 
during its bombardment l>\ tin British that 
suggested to Frank Key the \cr*cs that have 
since become our national autlu ui. 1 b«- Mar- i 

Spangled Banner. N 

Arrived a< Annapolis, hc found thai city oc- 
eupied by the national forces under the c«»m- I 
maud of Major-General Butler. Tbe Nj\\ 
School had been slopped hodih to N.\\|.n. 
Rhode Island, nbile w> promim v.« re iwil us 
barracks ami drill ground for thfl I "luniecr* ar- 
riving daily by ship loads. My companion, on 
ascertaining that tbe motive of bis w-w was! 
removed, returned immediately to Baltimore. I 
Finding in the quaint antiquity of the city, and 
in the military activity of the i\ i. b .■ vous, an! 
attractive field of observation I determined t. 
remain for several da\ 

Through the politeness of ( !apti .in Kodgera, 
of the navy, I obtained a permit from ti. neral 
Butler to visit the academy grounds at j I 
lire. Here the work of organizing and equip- 
ping the troops hastening to the dfdrmofl of the 
national capital was going on with all tfcfl 
promptness and efficiency that the nnosokw d - 
manded. Vessels were continually arriving ! 
with supplies, arms, and reeruits ; i ; 
These recruits generally had to be renovated 
from the epidermis outward, and then drilled 
into soldiers all in a few days. -So tar ;-.s ex- i 
terual appearance went this was ratifffartorfly 
accomplished. Outside the military in. 1 ware 
the city of Annapolis was as quiet as a N 
England village on a Sabbath morning. A few I 
officers and curious country gentlemen hung ' 

about the L'tcls. A k-h meek .uaniKtcd \ ol 
untecr.s (fellows who had never Unite arms 
dawdled about on their good behavior, truth, k 
ing at stores ami cuiuh ->iiop>. and slyly souud- 
ing for forbidden stimulants. Few citizens 
were seen on tbe street*, and a number of the 
best residences were closed, the inmates hat 
ing abandoned the town in tenor or disgust. ' 
While strolling about the street* of rural as- 
pect I frequently fell into com creation w ith 
citizens of the plainer class, and found them 
generally in sympathy with the rebellion, am. 
stuffed with underground rumor* of the iuom 
inurvclous character. One man told mc that 
since the advent of the Yankee troop* several 
of bis ac«piaintanee» bad disappeared mysteri- 
ously, and be bail satisfactory information thai 
they had l«ccn kidnap|»cd and hung by But- 
ler in tbe academy grounds. For himself, he 
a\ erred that be ne»cr went to Ih d tit night with 
nnv certainfv to where he would find him- 

anuv and na* • I • 

ub i.fli 

•mmcmcmeut of our trou 
b a ht»|H? for i ho future of 

afternoon 1 ftool |«*aagv 
and after encountering 
l«a» an..., at llnltimorv 

I 1 found the tide of rcvo- 
etdrdly ebbing. Thl na- 
-ared in M»me place*, eon,. 
North had reoitenqd, ami 
ed in public of their corn- 

Having al length succeeded in t on* lading 
the busincaa for which I came, on the I'd of 
May 1 returned to Chariest"* u, Virginia. 

In retumiug through Harper'* Ferry 1 found 
the plot had tbi< kened con«idrrahh timing my 
absence. Tuc militia general. Harper, had been 
suspended iii command by a C Udoocl T. J. Jack- 
son, formerly of the United State. Array, and 
latterly a professor at the Virginia Military In- 
st it utc. There acre probably at thi* time five 
thousand men assembled here, including regi- 
ment* from several of the Southern Stated. A 
regiment of Rcntuckians, under a Colonel Dun- 
can of Louisville, had armed, while detached 
companies aud individual »vm|-athi*cni from 
Maryland were being organized into a buttul 
ion. Several Hcld-guns were in |>o*ilion com 
manding the railroad approaches, while bat 
teries were exhibited on the neighboring elifl- 
in localities which struck me as more nictur 
estpic than judicious. Although still *cry im- 
perfect in organization aud discipline, and de- 
ficient in anus, ammunition, clothes, and equip- 
ments, the troops already showed the prcscnet 
of a military bead. Among the volunteers 
from Berkeley and Jefferson 1 perceived a good 
deal of discontent and disaffection. Two weeks 



§ 1 

of soldiering had already told on the enthusiasm 
of the feeble, while many of the more thought- 
ful, who had been decided Union men, found 
themselves in an awkward position between 
their political views and interests and their im- 
plied military engagements. Some with whom 
I conversed hoped to be delivered from their 
difficulties by the rejection of the Act of Seces- 
sion by the people, and expressed their de- 
termination to vote against it if the opportunity 
was allowed them. 

I talked freely to a number of acquaintances, 
and earnestly advised several young men, in 
whom I felt an especial interest, to get out of 
it while there was yet time. 

Captain Botts looked haggard and care-worn, 
like a man who felt the force of the classic epi- 
gram, "nolentem trahunt fata." He evident- 
ly avoided conversation with me, and I did not 
press it. 

May G. — This morning the business which 
had taken me to Charlestown was concluded. I 
was married to a lady of that place, and imme- 
diately thereafter started for Berkeley Springs 
via Duffields De'pot. 

At Berkeley we found the Judge and law- 
yers assembled to hold the spring term of the 
Superior or District Court. Amidst the tur- 
moil of arms on all sides it Avas consolatory to 
find this vestige of established forms. The 



court was thinly attended, however, and there 
was little or no business transacted, it being 
painfully apparent to every one that the reign 
of civil law in this region was approaching its 
end, and the elements of social order rapidlj re- 
solving into armed anarchy. 

Practically the revolution had not yet reached 
Morgan County. Except a few petty politi- 
cians, and some who held civil or militan nun- 
missions from the State, the people of the coun- 
ty were almost unanimous in their loyalty. In 
maintaining their position against the entan- 
gling influences of State and county organiza- 
tion they were counseled, encouraged, and as- 
sisted by my father, who from the heginning 
had exhibited the most uncompromising and 
defiant opposition to the secession movement. 
In oral or written arguments he averted with- 
out reserve the paramount authority of tin- \ 
tional Government. He maintained that he 
was horn, and had always lived, a Gttiseu of the 
United States, ami regarded as insolent pre- 
sumption the action of any local assembly which 
pretended to dispute this claim or ubsi |ve him 
from his true allegiance. 

He scorned all ideas of compromise . -r con 
cession to such local assumption, and scouted .it 
every suggestion of,donht or timidity in regard 
to the result of the approaching contest. While 
elsewhere every thing seemed to l>c yielding, 
deluded by the specious falsehoods r.r over 
awed by the terror of armed treason, all within 
the influence of this strong spirit seemed to 
partake of his courage and - r . • . t . 1 1 . i - 1 : i . - At 
Berkeley loyalty still enjoyed freedom 
in public places, while it was secession that 
sneaked about, silent, apologetic, eaves-dnp 
ping, and meditating treachery. 

For my own part 1 ha. I heCOIIM disgusted 
with the course of public tflUn. [had 
disappointed both in Government and people. 
All my prognostics bad failed. The dclav ami 

indecision still manifested at Washington i baftd 

my impatient zeal, ami 1 turned rc-..lut« l\ to 
the accomplishment of the |>ersonal plans >% h,« h 
I had formed. 1 had been for some time en- 
gaged in fitting up a house at Berkeley and 
making arrangements f or a future that pleased 

my fancy. These plans i developed to inv 
wife as I brought her home and installed her 
in the cottage. For the present we ha\e 
enough of social life around us. composed . . t 
the nearest and dearest of our kindred, while 
during the summer heats the baths gf Berkeley 
will always attract a brilliant and culth 

But the war ? 

The Avar will not reach us here. This re- 
gion is poor, sparsely populated, and di Ben It 
of access. The armies will avoid so inconven- 
ient and unprofitable a field, and fight it out 

Literature and the beautiful arts will furnish 
me with interesting and remunerative occupa- 
tion. Here is my library — a pretentious name 
perhaps for the few hundred volumes I have 

! collected : but in a county when* an almanac 
and a Bible arc considered a vcr\ < red i tabic lit- 
erary aggregation I mux be allowed to call mine 
a library. There are some rarv ami valuable 

I books in the collection well worth the |K»ru*al. 
under the trees ,,t a summer morning, oral the 
w inter fireside by the light of a kerosene lamp. 
But the newspajHTs. will Ik* filled with excit- 

| ing news of the war ? It is to !*• hoped the 
mails will l>e stopped, and we will get no new* 
papers; or, in any ex cut, we need nut read 

Here is the parlor, decornted with painting 
and furnished with musical appliance* — ptauo. 
violin, and guitar, with choice selections ol 
music from the classic comj»o«eni of Italy, Ger- 
many, and Fnince. A parlor organ in all m\ 
ambition covet* in this direction. 1 will gvt 
one some day when — 

Hark, was that the sound ofrannon? 

No— it was only a book that *tru« k the piano 
by accident. 

My studio in also well supplied with materi- 
als for work— crayons "d». and water-color*. 
Hen* are drawer* tilled with *kctch-b«Mik«, pa 
porn, engraving*, photograph*, and a man of 

failure*, Mich a* in lime will a. < emulate u\h>u 
the hand* of every artistic amateur. 

There are »till *omc thcorie* unexploded 
that haunt me— MM *e«|iir«tered path* in tin 
paradise of Art yet unexplored. A few year* 
of uninterrupted quiet will afford me the Ions- 

able, there arc other and greater problem* to 
lie mixed. What is this'' — a safSsa. 

riierc w ill be no war. Cixilitation ha* ad 
vanccd »inee that day. A petode mar rise 
against de»|»oti*m t but not againat a free gov- 
emment. The people of Virginia and the 
South will not he sold and trampled upon with 
itlll.unitr. The descendant, of h w M*t.*r»i 


Is that one of your 
Here arc mv trees i 
delightful relaxation 
book* and neneiU th. 

at more 
ue*a of 

ers and the planting of tree*! 

The man who is trimming the border* thrust- 
his spade in the ground and relieve* himself of 
the burden of his thoughts: *• 1 «ar, Captain, 
what are we going to d.. tf these secessionists 
want to force us to serve against the Unite* 
States? I'll die first. They will hardlv 
dare to push things so far in thi* region. Sam'. 
If they do attempt it, you understand r 

A walk through the adjacent woods and 
along the hill-sides develops even now ui<>r< 
floral beauties than the cultivated garden | fa U 
in June there will l>c an exhibition that will 
put to shame all exotic collections. 



But even these covert rabbit paths and 
secluded dells, where the pheasant hides its 
young, afford us no refuge from the omnipres- 
ent thought. Some axe-bearing mountaineer, 
sitting upon a prostrate log across our walk, 
propounds the inevitable question, "What news 
of the war?" We visit the village store to pur- 
chase a skein of thread, or stop at the post- 
office to inquire for a letter — at each place we 
find the little newsmongering conventions hold- 
ing their daily sittings, assembling early and 
adjourning late, questioning all comers, and re- 
peating the most exaggerated rumors. 

Here is a room which seems to have been 
purposely avoided ; mysterious and double- 
locked, like Blue Beard's fatal chamber. Ah ! 
this room contains some rubbish ; in truth, this 
room is my armory. That my health may not 
suffer from too much study I have arranged to 
indulge my taste for rural sports, for which the 
neighboring mountains and rivers afford ampje 
opportunity. This neat English double-bar- 
reled piece is for birds, and this quaint and 
richly-ornamented jager rifle is for deer and 
bear. Here, too, are several jointed fishing- 
rods, with a complete outfit of lines and flies. 

And those grim-looking muskets in the cor- 
ner — what are they for? They are for de- 
fense. When the worst comes — and perhaps 

it will come soon — we'll gather our mountain- 
eers together and fight it out with these brazen 
tricksters who have dared to sell our native 
State to treason and dishonor ; bullet for bul- 
let, and life against life. And that will be war 
after all — civil and social war in its most dread- 
ful shape. 

And thus it was. Whether we looked upon 
the pages of a book or the petals of a flower, 
the steadfast features of a picture or the coun- 
tenance of a sympathizing friend ; whether 
studying the tender tints of the budding for 
ests or the richer and more evanescent glories 
of the clouds, by sunlight or moonlight, alone 
or in company, sleeping or waking, there was 
the shadowy face of the Gorgon staring with 
its sleepless, stony eyes. 

The cherished plan of philosophic seclusion 
was acknowledged a failure at the end of a 
fortnight, and I was glad when my wife pro- 
posed a visit to her friends in Charlestown. 

May 21. — To-day we took the cars at Sir 
John's and returned to CharlestOAvn. It was 
painful to remark the progress which the rev- 
olution had made during our absence. Joe 
Johnston had taken command at Harper's Fer- 
ry, and, it was said, had ten thousand men as- 
sembled there. Trains of cars loaded with 
troops were passing continually from Winches- 



ter to Harper's Ferry. The war Bpiril irai in 
full blaze, and all traces of Conservatism or 
Unionism seemed to be rapidly disappearing 
before tbe terror of armed force and the irre- 
sistible current of social sympathy. 

Maif 22.— I visited Harper - Ferry to-day. 
The adjacent hills arc covered with camps, and 
all the work-shops and public building con- 
verted into barracks. There were rc^imentl 
from Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Tennes- 
see, Kentucky, Maryland, and from various 
sections of Virginia. State* that ha\e -<•■ ed( I 
and those that are still loyal are here repre- 
sented. How doe* tin- appear t . . i! 
insist on State sovereignty ? These troopa 
seem to be well equipped end fairly armed. 
They drill most industriously from morning till 
night. I am informed that Maryland Hcij 1 \t 
is occupied by a regiment of Keittw kiana, 

while a company of A*hby's cavuln 

lished on the Maryland «dd'\ gnarding the 

hridge at the Point <>f lb«< ks. 

I observe, however, that the < on of 

stockades and block-houses on the Man land 
and London Height-, commenced under .la- V 
son's orders, has been discontinued, and that 
no further step* have Keen taken to mount nnd 
locate the heavy guns brought up from Nor 
folk. A fanner also told me that .lohn«ton 

had made a requisition on th unity for t«>» 

hundred wagon-. 1 al-o noticed that tin \ 
were removing the armory ma< h i n.- r\ anil ma- 
terial from Harper - Ferry a* r.ipidlv .»•. jn.,.| 
hie — to be set up at Richmond, it was rumored. 

It required very little military - . 

interpret these sign-, and I bc< urn minced 

that Johnston would abandon the place u*. mhui 

as the Federal troops pored. 

Considering the chara« ter of the force thus 
hastily collected, the degree of i.rd«*r and dis- 
cipline already attained i- utoniahine Whit 

ky-shops, those great enemies of -... i d 
and military subordination, wen* m<»p -ilc»»h 
suppressed. A sense of soldierly pride thac 
would have been creditable to \rt.-rana SSjaaajed 
to govern the conduct of both men and ofAeem 
Indeed, the orderly and bu-iness-like carneat- 
ness of the camp, to those who -till dream of 
peace or cherish hope that the thing will blow 
over, is far more disheartening than nil the 
menace and bluster of the world out-id--. 

It was worthy of remark, too. and contran 
to our ordinary ex p e ri e n ces with raw tr«M»ps, 
that in all these camps one never heard the re- 
port of fire-arms by day or night. It was un- 
derstood at the time that ammunition was v.-rv 
scarce: and I afterward found a letter from 
Colonel Jackson, wherein he s t:l tes that they 
were at that date especially deficient in per- 
eussion caps. He had managed to procure 
thirty thousand from the North— about three 
rounds per man— and was much in need of 
money to purchase a larger supply. 

May 23.— To-day the polls were opened for 
the purpose of taking the popular vote on the 
Ordinance of Secession. As the State i- al- 

ready at war with the Government thi« went* 
to be a work of s-iporcrogation. So far as the 
County of Jefferson was concerned the polling 
was a fir. -. Troop*, were -« tit t.. the pre 

! cinctn where the force of ihc I'nion sentiment 
was expected to display itself, ami tiolent 
threats were made again*! the persons and 
property of those who should dare to rote 
against the Ordinance. The result was ihar 
about one-half the voter* of tbe county did 
| not appear at the polls at all. A respectable 
minority registered their voice* agnin»t it in 
1 face of the threat*, and. with the a*»i«tance of 
( the soldier** vote at Harper * Ferry, there ap- 
i peared hut a small majority in this county sus- 



to OV( 

favor of the 1 

mintv of Ilerkelev the 

the ii 

»w to th 

»r* who h 




latr* tbal had screwed nnd tho*r 

honor of his fai 

n at 

Kentm-kians ; the oldest and most respect e« I 
! citizens insulted on the street*, for opinion'* 
sake, by half- civilized Mi«*i*»ipptans ; chic 
rights at the merrv of the militarv telegraph: 
and free opinion cowering under the menace of 
an. Arkansas howic-knife. Virginia, so boast- 
ful of her history, so jealous of .her independ- 
ence, so captious in regard to her sovereign 
rights, now lay subjugated by armed arranger*, 
groveling at the feet of the Cotton Confedcr- 
' acy. 

It is not surprising, therefore, that so little 
interest wa.s felt in the result of the voting on 
that day ; and when the Governor of the S'.ite. 



-ome time after, proclaimed a considerable ma- 
jority in favor of Secession, very few persons 
thought themselves at all enlightened on the 

During the ensuing week I visited Harper's 
Ferry frequently, and amused myself sketch- 
ing the picturesque scenery and the dramatic 
groups in which the camps abounded. 

May 27. — To-day met an old acquaintance 


in a field-officer of one of the Alabama regi- 
ments, and took a camp dinner with him. 
When I came out of the dining-tent I found 
dragoon waiting with orders for my arrest. 
Accompanied by my friend, I went to Provos: 
Marshal's office to ascertain the nature of the 
charges against me. While awaiting that offi- 
cer's arrival I had a view of the adjoining 
guard-house, densely populated with the sweep 

ings of the camp. 
By reversing the 
ordinary accepta- 
tion of the phrase, 
it might have been 
termed a "select 
company, " and very 
judiciously select- 

It appeared that 
I had been de- 
nounced by some 
fellow as a Union 
man and a corre- 
spondent of a 
Northern paper. I 
denied that I was 
a correspondent of 
any paper ; stated 
that I was a native 
and resident of the 
district, and sketch- 
ed for amusement, 
as had been my 
custom from child- 
hood. I showed 
my sketches, and 
the Marshal, fully 
satisfied, released 
me, with many po- 
lite apologies. 

I then resumed 
my drawing ; but 



perceiving that I was still jealously watched, ami 
being advised by some of the officers that I might 
be mistaken for a Yankee and get into farther 
trouble, I put up my pencils and returned to 
Charlestown, determined to visit Harper's Fer- 
ry no more. 

Another incident occurred about tin- time 
which indicated the direction in which ue were 
drifting, and revealed the precarious tenure upon 
which life and personal liberty would depend 
hereafter. One morning General Johnston, at 
Harper's Ferry, received a telegram from Beau- 
regard, at MinnniW Junction, in tOMQ POfdl I 
••Arrest Abraham Dorr." 

Mr. Ilcrr was a citizen of Harper'- F< n . . | 
wealthy manufacturer, and universally esteem- 
ed. His Union sympathies were not doubted ; 
i)ut as he was uniformly acquiescent and oblig- 
ing, and scented only interested in saving his 
property, the most truculent Secessionist* re- 
spected his position. Johnston had him arrested 
immediately; but as no charges were pre!" rred. 
and there appeared no reason lor detaining him. 
his case was turned over to the ci\il authoritv. 
On his trial before a magistrate's <• art. a] 
though there appeared no charges written or 
oral, neither accusers nor witnesses, vet Mr. 
llerrwas put under bonds for thirty thousand 
dollars, to answer generally to any think' that 
might turn up. Such was already the /calou* 
subserviency of a civil tribunal to a remote mil 
itarv whisper. 

When it came to be understood among tin- 
troops at Harper's lerrj thai Virginia bed bei n 
:ransferrcd to the Southern Confederacy the 
dissatisfaction was so serious that mutiu\ wii- 
apprehended. This feeling w as especially strong 
among the Border companies, in which were 
found so many Union men w ho had bet n de- 
luded and dragged into a false position. 

They had hitherto clung to the dcsj K 'rat» 

hope thai ■ refusal of the people 10 confirm the 

ordinance Of Secession would deliver them from 
their embarrassment. When it became appar- 
ent that there was no hope from this quarter, 
many threw down their amis and went home. 
It was said that one-half of the Border Gaard 
from Martinshurg left their colors, d- . hiring 
they would not serve in such a cause. A« most 
of these young men went to their homes in 
Martinshurg, a force was sent to arrest and 
bring them back. For better assurance in find- 
ing them the order was executed at midnight, 
and the victims were dragged from their beds 
amidst the shrieks and protestations of their 
families. That night Martinshurg recalled the 
words of Jeremy the prophet, In Kama w as 
there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, , 
and great mourning." 

The prisoners were carried to Harper's Ferry 
and tried for desertion. One who was con- 
:umacious and detiant was condemned to be 
shot. This, however, was only intended as a 
menace. The time had not arrived when such 
extreme measures would have been judicious* 
Some of these men were persistent, and finally 

made their escape. Not a few finally joined 
the United States army . 

In the midst of the difficulties, U»th civil and 
military, which surrounded him I could MM but 
admire the deportment of the Confederate com- 
mander; his reticence, calmness, limine-* in 

oaaentisls, easj acquiescence in nun osacntials. 
his avoidance of all needles* irritation* of hos- 
tile political sentiment, of all needle.** severity 
in dealing with men not y et accustomed to ar- 
bitrary rule. In short, his judicious manage- 
ment of a power, not yet nccured by flic habit* 
of military discipline and continually disputed 
by adverse opinion, marke*l him a* a man of 
uncommon ability, and one likely tube danger- 
ous to the Government against whuh he had 
taken arm*. 

May 28. — This afternoon I received tome in- 
formation which filled me with alann and dis- 
tress. A young kinsman, an officer of the Sec- 
ond Virginia Regiment, fold me that ou yeater- 
day, while in Martiu«hiirg, he was accosted by 
a stranger who named himself Lieutenant Col- 
onel Flagg. of the Morgan militia, and who 
honstingly informed him that he had ju*t re- 
turned from 1 1 • ; • r'n Kerry , whither he had gone 

dred muskets in hi* |mj 
citizen* of the county I 
against the Cotifcdcn 
that, at hi* *uggc*tiou 
ready been di»|uitchci 
crush the nio\emeiit 


a body of troop 
from llaqier • 
and arre*t the 

hut immediately on arming in Charlestown re- 
lated them to me. 

In view of my father's age and feeble health 
I could M-arecly believe it po*aihlc that he had 
committed himself by *o ra*h and premature a 
movement. I urn* aware that not long before 
he had visited Washington and offered hi* *err- 
iccs to President Lincoln. Hut aj he wa* too 
old for active *enice, I const m this only aa a 
public declaration of loyalty to the Government 

general defection, that there wu% at |cu*t, one 
Virginia gentleman who felt the dishonor done 
to hi* State, und the danger with which hi* 
country wa* menaced bv the late proceeding*. 

Yet I knew the Western V irginian* were or- 
ganizing and arming, and scrioualy apprehend- 
ed that my father hud rec eived arm* and become 
involved in some movement from that quarter. 
Know ing the extent and quality of the force at 
Harper's Ferry. I fell that an attempt of the 
sort in Morgan, without external WUtlUlL mu-t 
necessarily be : ual to those who eng.ig«d in it. 

An officer, just from Harper's Fe rry. ...u- 
firmed the report that troops had been aent to 
Berkeley Springs, but he wa* enubled to gire 
no details. 

jVbj L"J.— During a sleepless night I made 
my plans. Arming myself with a revolver I 
rode over to DuffieluV Depot, and there took 



the cars for Berkeley Springs. I determined 
first to take summary vengeance on the wretch 
who had denounced my father, and then to 
join him and share his fortunes whatever they 
might be. 

At Sir John s I ascertained that the Con- 
federate troops had actually visited Berkeley, 
and returned, carrying with them several hun- 
dred old muskets, which had been sent from 
Harper's Ferry two years before to arm the cit- 
izens during the excitement which followed the 
John Brown raid. There had been no collision 
between the troops and citizens, and no one 
could tell whether or not any arrests had been 
made. Arrived at home, I entered the house 
with breathless anxiety. My sister met me with 
her accustomed cheerfulness, and, thus reas- 
sured, I had the courage to inquire for my fa- 
ther. At the sound of my voice he entered 
from an adjoining room, looking well and calm 
as usual. He said the officer commanding the 
State troops had quietly marched over from 
Sir John's, got the arms which were stored in 
the court-house, and returned without ques- 
tioning or interfering with any one. 

I did not tell him what alarming information 
had brought me up, but felt altogether so much 
relieved that I modified my plan of vengeance. 
Having quietly prepared a written paper, I took 
a friend and went in search of my Lieutenant- 
Colonel of militia. We overtook him walking 
out with a companion. Ordering him to halt, 
I confronted him, and taxed him with his 
treacherous conduct. He responded by an ab- 
solute denial of the whole matter, declaring, 
on his honor, that he had not even visited 
Harper's Ferry. I silenced him, and went on to 
state when, where, and to whom he had un- 
bosomed himself. He was struck dumb. 

After heaping upon him every outrageous 
insult that could be expressed in language, I 
produced the paper previously prepared, con- 
taining an acknowledgment of falsehood and 
an humble apology therefor : presenting it on 
the top of my hat with a pencil, I ordered him 
to sign it. Laying aside a large club Avhich he 
carried, the stalwart Colonel obeyed the order 
with an alacrity that was creditable to his mil- 
itary education. 

I then told him that I intended to publish 
this note at army head-quarters and elsewhere, 

and would be content for the present with hav- 
ing disgraced him ; but I assured him that if 
he offended again in like manner he would not 
be allowed the opportunity of purchasing his 
life by ignominy. 

In the public square of the village I called 
together such persons as were in sight, and read 
the paper to them, after relating the circum- 
stances under which it was exacted. 

I took the trouble to enact this little comedy 
with the hope that it might protect my father 
from treacherous dealings, which I apprehended 
from other quarters. 

From further conversation I learned that 
there was no foundation whatever for the re- 
ports which this pragmatical scoundrel had set 
afoot. In full confidence that the General Gov- 
ernment was preparing an adequate force to 
crush the rebellion, my father had been using 
all his influence to prevent local disturbance, 
counseling the elders to pursue their avoca- 
tions quietly and the young men to join the 
United States army, where their fighting pro- 
pensities might be lawfully gratified and their 
prowess turned to better account than it would 
be in private brawls. 

Having satisfactorily disposed of this " ridic- 
ulus mus," the product of the mountains, I 
started next morning (May 30) to return to 
Charlestown. At Martinsburg I found every 
thing in confusion and excitement. The Sec- 
ond Regiment of Virginia Volunteers had been 
for some time stationed at a point opposite 
Williamsport to observe the National forces 
concentrating at Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, 
and whose advance already occupied Williams- 
port. Upon some alarming indications from 
the other side the Second Regiment was or- 
dered to retire, and being composed of raw ma- 
terial, it passed through Martinsburg in a con- 
dition bordering on stampede. The Union cit- 
izens were jubilant in expectation of an imme- 
diate advance of the National army, while many 
Secessionists, in their terror, packed up their 
household goods and fled southward, with their 
families and negroes. 

Owing to detentions from this and other 
causes, I did not reach Dufiields until after 
nightfall, and was obliged to make my way to 
Charlestown, five miles distant, on foot, through 
mud and darkness. 




l»k.J4«J <t» THAT I >«» Tll« TALI K or U 


F WILL not subject the reader to the ] • 
L of {mother trip across the mountains. Tin* 
road is familiar to him by tlii* lime. Ho h i- 

sccn it in winter, spring, and mmaMf — by <! q 

light and by moonlight — on foot and from the 
front scat of a pioneer -taire. 

On a ])lcasant morning in the month of May 
last, I took my scat in tho Stage fbf Austin. 
My fellow-passengers wore a con) lc of Isr.icl- 
itcs in the ready - mailt* clothing liii<- ; three 
honest miners, deep in ledce<: and a mothcrly 
female, with live sm:dl children, im hiding one 
at the breast. We were not to say crammed, 
bnt there were enough of us for comfort, con- 
sidering the heat of the weather and the length 
of the journey. I do not Irish to c. >n v»-y the 
idea that there is the slightest inconvenience 
in sitting bolt upright on a narrow seat between 
two heavy men, one of whom persista in telling 
you all about a patent amalgamator ; and the 
other in smoking bad cigars, going to sleep at 
brief intervals, punching you with his ell mv<, 
and butting you with his head ; or any thing 
to complain of in the boots of your opporite 
neighbor which have a propensity for resting 
on your toes, ranging over your shins, getting 
up on your seat, and airing themselves on the 
adjacent window-sill ; or cause of mental dis- 
quietude in the suspicion of being greased all 
over the back of your only coat by a numerous 
family of children whose hopeless attempts to 
appease their appetites by means of sausage. 

bread and b 
lv imt»rev«o 

n» in brt 

In of at 

With ; cial reference to •tagc-pa*«cngcni wh< 
travel along the luink* of the Carw»n in the enrl\ 
part of summer these affliction* are of too se- 

I rions mul complicated a nature to fall within 
tho range of ordinary comprehension, unaided 
by an enlarged practical experience. 

A tup to Austin is »omcthing to look bark 

| upon with pleasure in after lifo. It is alwny* 
a source of happiness to think that it in orer, 

[ that there arc no more gnat* and alkalidotmV 
to swallow ; no more ri« kctr and forlorn Mn 

1 tions to stop at ; no more grcajiv bean* and ba- 

on that route at least. And yet it has it* at- 
tractive aspect ; the rich flood of sun«hine that 
! covers the plains ; the glorious atmospheric tint* 
that rent upon the mountains inoruiiigand even- 
ing ; the broad expanse of sage -desert, so mourn- 
fully grand in its desolation. The whole jour 
ncy of a hundred nnd seventr mile* from Vir 
t ginia City may be summed up thus : Fort v mile* 
| along the Carson, picturcquc nnd pleisant. 
though rather dusty and somewhat obscured 
, by gnats ; station-houses built of boards, posts, 
and adobes where the horses arc changed ; oc- 
casionally bars and bad whisky: bacon am. 
beans, with a strange dilution of coffee thre« 



times a day ; excellent drivers and the best of 
pioneer stages ; sage-deserts and alkali-deserts, 
varied by low barren mountains ; teams with 
heavy wagons, heavily laden with machinery 
and provisions for Reese River, slowly tugging 
through the dust ; emigrant wagons filled with 
women and children, wending their way tedi- 
ously toward the land of gold, and empty freight 
wagons, coming back from Reese, such are the 
principal features of the journey. 

Of the country I shall only add that it is the 
most barren, desolate, scorched up, waterless, 
alkali-smitten patch of the North American 
continent I have ever yet seen — a series of hor- 
rible deserts, each worse than the other. Par- 
allel ranges of naked mountains running near- 
ly north and south, with spurs or foot-hills 
running east and west, form a continuation of 
valleys through which the road winds. These 
valleys sink in the middle, where there is gen- 
erally a dry white lake of alkali in which even 
the sage refuses to grow. Very little wood is 
to be seen any where on the route — none in 
the valleys, and only a few dwarfish nijt-pines 
on the sides of the mountains. I know of no 
reason at all why any human being should live 
in such a country ; and yet some people do, and 
they seem to like it. Not that they are making 
money either, for very few are doing that, but 
they get a sort of fondness for alkali in their 
food and water, and seem to relish flies, gnats, 
bacon, and grease as standard articles of diet. 

After two days and a night of concentrated 
enjoyment in this kind of travel, our last driver 
cracks his whip, and our stage makes a dive 
into a little rut and out again. There is a faint 
show of water on the wheels. " What's that ?" 
cries every body in astonishment ! 

"Gents!" says the driver, "I didn't like to 
alarm you ; but that's Reese River, and there's 
Jacobs ville !" 

No wonder Ave were startled, for Reese River 
is a source of astonishment to every traveler 
who passes over the road to Austin for the first 
time. It derives its name from an emigrant, 
who must have had a humorous turn of mind 
when he called it a river. That it is not so 
long as the Missouri or so majestic as the Mis- 
sissippi is very generally understood ; but when 
the expectant traveler comes to a sort of ditch 
in the desert about six feet wide, with the 
slightest glimmering of a streak of water at the 
bottom, he is naturally astounded at the frolic- 
some audacity of Reese. A jolly old Reese he 
must have been, to embark his name on the 
smallest river in the world, which sinks in the 
desert a few miles below the crossing, and thus 
undertake to float down the stream of life into 
an enduring fame ! May you never be forgot- 
ten, Reese, while Reese River flows through 
the sage-deserts of Nevada ! May you never 
be thirsty, even in the thirstiest region of fu- 
turity, when you think of that noble stream 
which bears your name forever onward over the 
upper crust of earth ! 

Seven miles more in the pleasant glow of a 

sunshiny afternoon takes us rattling up the 
slope of a canon, near the mouth of which stand? 
the famous city of Clifton, or rather its ghost ; 
for Clifton was the father of Austin, and died 11 
sudden death about two years ago. All that 
remains of it now is a broad street flanked by 
the wrecks of many frame shanties, whose lights 
are fled and whose garlands must be dead, for 
they are nowhere seen, unless the everlasting 
bunches of sage that variegate the scene should 
be regarded in that metaphorical point of view. 

It is said of the citizens of Clifton that they 
were blind to their own interests when they 
started the city. With florid imaginations in 
reference to the future, they established florid 
prices for town-lots, and thus drove honest 
miners higher up the canon. The nucleus 
of a new town called Austin was formed; bu! 
the way to get to it was hard — like the way of 
the transgressor — and the Cliftonites chuckled 
much, believing they had the thing in their own 
hands ; when lo ! the Austinitcs suddenly went 
to work and built a magnificent grade, and 
down went Clifton, as if stricken by the fist of 
a mighty pugilist, with a cloud of mourning 
around its eye ! 

But we anticipate history. It behooves us 
first to explain why Clifton and Austin ever 
came to be built at all, there being nothing in 
the general aspect of the country to encourage 
settlement ifrom any indication it presents of 
social, agricultural, or commercial advantages 
over other parts of the world. 

The present site of Jacobsville, seven mile? 
from the mouth of the canon, was an overland 
station prior to the discovery of the silver mines. 
Its principal feature was then, and still is, a 
fine spring of water, which is a notable attrac- 
tion in that dry country. The town of Jacobs- 
ville was started on speculation after the Reese 
River excitement commenced ; it being the 
only place within a hundred miles where whis- 
ky could be had in any considerable quantity. 
Like Clifton, however, it received a black eye 
when Austin was started ; and now stands a 
melancholy monument of human hopes frus- 

In May, 1862, William Talcott, an employe 
in the Pony Express service, went to look for 
his ponies in the nearest ranges of mountains, 
which, as fortune ordained, was the Toyahe 
range. He took with him an Apache boy, pur- 
chased by James Jacobs in Arizona for a jack- 
knife and pair of blankets. Talcott and the 
Apache thus became the pioneers of civiliza- 
tion. They struck for the nearest canon — and 
they struck up this canon in search of the po- 
nies — and while they were looking about them 
they struck a streak of greenish quartz, which 
Talcott thought resembled some quartz he had 
seen in Gold Hill. It was of a bluish green 
color, with a strong suspicion of mineral in it. 
but what kind of mineral nobody knew up to 
that date — not even the Apache who was born 
in a mineral country, -and whose range of ob- 
servation had been confined almost exclusivol 



to mineral deserts from the time he was horn 
up to the date of his purc hase l»y Jacob? for a 
jack-knife and pair of blanket <. 

It is a remarkable fact that Fremont might 
have distinguished himself by this di-covery. 
many years before, had he not pa^-ed a little 
too far to the south. His route lay through 
Death Valley and the southern rii i I Smoky 
Valley, crossing by Silver Teak to Walker's 
Lake, and thence up the Walker Kiver Valley. 
He left some of his men at Owen's Lake and 
crossed the Sierras into California. The gn at 
Pathfinder, unfortunately for himself. to,.k the 
wrong path and missed the Kec-e Kiver Mine* 
by about 170 miles. Of course no blamo can 
be attached to him for that, though there are 
people in Central Neva. la wh". baring availed 
themselves of other people's diseo\ erie-, rather 
incline to the opinion thai Fn ; mont ought to 
have gone the licesc Kiver route and opened 
up the mines. If mining speculation* V .1 test 
of merit, is it not enough to bare opened up 

and sold out the M \ 

yet there may be |>copIc in New York wbo 
could wish that the famous Pathfinder had 
missed the Mariposa trail by 170 mile* north nr 
south, cast or west — so it fcems quite impoari- | 
ble to select a path that will suit every body. 

On the 10th of July, iHtl'J, the fir»t miner*' 
meeting in the Kee-e Kiver cmintrj WM held, 
and the district of that name waa aatahh«hfd. 
William Taleott. dame* ,1 i. ..!•«, Waah. Jacob*, 
ainl a Mr. O'Neill located a claim on a ledge, 
which was called, in honor of the ROM ex 
pTOtt, the "l'ony Ledge." It in a mooted 
question whether Taleott or the Apache boy 
can justly claim -o mm !, ;i , the ponies they 
were in search of, which were thus nimmanly 
disposed of with a name and the four f* «- 1 the* 
nappened to carry about them. Thin company 
located three other claims in the lower I— -t 

hills, but none of tbem turned om 
The ore* first discovered were chic 
nial. Mr. O Netll bad a ranch « 
River, where he lived when be ui 
live in any particular locality. Ot 
from Keeac Kiver be to*ik home wit 
of the ores from the newly -discover 
Mr. Vandcrbosch, an intelligent 
who had nunc know ledge of mil 
pened to sec these »pc< ttnrtu at tl 
O'Neill, and immediately pronounc 
able opinion as to the ** indication 
contained in them. They ron*tM« 
part, of the mctaU usually found in 
with - 1" I — r. ir. antimon 
lena. The trarea of ailrer were 

_ - , J 1 ., t |V,..„ ni t »„ I w.n. 


teMed br 

ith »uch results at to attract 
.'. Daniel K Hurl, an enter- 

kcr. Huel w< 
great cnerjrv I 

tion, * 
aar. ai 

I than one. II W\ 
— the rarcM work of 

ig that could lie 
had been found 


the Hi 

I ft 

i m of aubxuL 

liuel and hi* friend* 
made acTcraJ loca- 
tion*, aotne of which 
turned oat well. They 
had a hard time of it. 

The town of Au»tin 
was named br Huel 
who, if not iu only fa- 
ther, wsj at leant iu 
biggest and ablest fa 

A* an independent 
historian I am great 1\ 





at a loss on this point. During my stay of near- 
ly three months in the Reese River country I 
think I saw the first man who started Austin 
(according to his own account) in fifty differ- 
ent aspects. Sometimes he was tall and some- 
times short; sometimes thick and sometimes 
thin ; occasionally old and occasionally young ; 
sober by turns and drunk by turns; always with 
a different name, and never concerned about 
his own fame, but merely desirous of setting 
me right and preventing interested parties from 
imposing on me. As a stranger, of course I 
could not be expected to know who built the 
first house — there it was, built by my inform- 
ant; which accounts for the fact that fifty dif- 
ferent houses were pointed out to me as the 
nucleus around which the famous city of Aus- 
tin sprang up. 

Mr. Vanderbosch, having satisfied himself as 
to the value of the ores, started over from Vir- 
ginia, and arrived in December, 1862, with a 
small party. Up to that date little had been 
done except in the way of prospecting. Wher- 
ever blue rock was found locations were made ; 

but their value had not yet been determ- 

The first locations of importance were made 
by Vanderbosch and his party. On the 19th 
of December the Oregon Ledge was discovered 
and located, near the upper end of the canon, 
where now stands that part of the town called 
Upper Austin. Ten days later the "North 
Star" and "Southern Light" were located. 
These were the first true discoveries of rich 
silver ores in the Reese River district. All 
that had previously taken place was uncertain 
and conjectural. Six miles south, in the so- 
called but now abandoned district of Simp- 
son's Park, Andrew Veatch, an enterprising 
explorer, who had been all through the Hum- 
boldt country, had discovered and located a 
claim called the "Comet," which attracted 
some attention. Veatch and his party went 
vigorously to work to develop their ledge. It 
went up like a rocket, and then came down 
like its stick. 

Vanderbosch obtained his first specimens of 
ore from the Oregon Ledge. They were found 
in a quartz vein three feet wide, with granite 
casings, showing silver chlorids, fahlcrtz, an- 
timonial, and ruby silver. These' specimens 
were sent to Virginia City to be assayed. The 
yield was so extraordinary — several thousand 
dollars to the ton — as to cause the most in- 
tense excitement. Nothing so rich had yet 
been discovered in our mineral possessions. 
Numerous as the frauds and disappointments 
had been in mining, speculations, there could 
be no doubt as to the wonderful richness of 
these ores. There were the ores and there 
were the assays to speak for themselves. What 
if the veins were narrow ? Nobody wanted a 
very wide vein, when a narrow one yielded six 
or seven thousand dollars to the ton. The 
Comstock was prodigiously big and Avide, but 
it looked poor in comparison with this. These 
assays were made in the latter part of December. 
Immediately the news spread — it flew on the 
wings of the wind, north, south, east, and west. 





.li M wv .-. ii l i..r. 

Then came the great. ru»h of .lanuarv . I *•'.. *. 
— the Washoe excitement mt r apiu! 1 
tered myself 1 hail helped to put an extinguish 
er on these rra/y mining -p< < alation* ; but 
when will people learn any tiling from experi- 
ence? Kern River, Gold 111 ml'. Pnuter River, 

Washoe — these were not enough ! Tune i 
spent ami money misupplh -1 only whetted the 
public appetite for the precious in* taU. Fail- 
ure never yet disheartened the American na 
turc, or quelchcd its members. Cien 
eral Grant was no more defeated by iiuim i • 
repulses at the siege ofVjcksburg than theee I 
hardy adventurers were by mi lb- ring, los* of 
means, loss of time, and constant failure to re- J 
alize their expectations. Ever cheery, uvef 
hopeful, they were up and at it again ; ' 
every knoek down — knowing no such thing as 

I am sorry for this trait in my fellow-coun- 
trymen. It is so annoying to our neighbor! 
across the water. Englishmen can't under- 
stand it, and won't believe it ; and yet we d<» 
these things in our own self-confident style, as 
if the British Lion were of no OOBeeouence 
whatever. Even the London Times never 
stopped us from winning a battle or opening 
up a new country, or emptying our pocketl in 
any new speculation that ottered the slightest 
symptom of a "pay streak.'* 

Ho, then, for Reese River ! Have you a 
gold mine? Sell it out and go to Ree-»- : 
Have you a copper mine? Throw it away and 
go to Reese ! Do you own dry goods ? Tack 

litem up for K« « ! Arr mu the proprietor of 
lot* in the City of Oakland? imr thrm to 

driver ? Buckle up v our 
you to lice**, for there U 
bullion ! — there lie* the 

eovend mith mow; neither food nor »h 
uas to be had at I(re»r. hut what of I 

iu.\ where he 

gru»s ; a 

cabin, situated near the l'tmj Is 

open tcnt» ; and I uni told they had a jovial 
time of it. Every body vu wonderfully rich 
—in feet. Tent* and trjgwajM of all kind* »oou 
began to sprinkle the bill-»idc*. Then MM 
great freight -wagon* with lumber, and whi»ky. 
and food and raiment, which brought fabulou* 
priecs; and up went Clifton and Austin like 
magic. About five thousand people gathered in 
and around Austin during the spring and mm- 
mer of 18o3. They came from California, from 
Wa>hoc, from Idaho, from Salt Like from e\ 

cry quarter of the eoinpa muc with motie\. 

most without, but all with the brighter 1>ojm - ol 
sudden wealth. Speculation &oou reached a 


pitch of extravagance to which all previous tain him but his own sanguine anticipations of 
mining excitements were tame. Lander Hill, the future, was one day engaged in digging a 
Central Hill, and Mount Prometheus, soon be- post-hole, when he struck something blue. It 
came riddled with claims, looking like naked was a ledge — rich in mineral. He at once per- 
giants, lying on their backs, sprinked with small- j 
pox. Every man who had a pick or a shovel { 
dug a hole two or three feet in the ground, and j 
called it the "Grand MagnifF," or the "Great I 
Stupendous Ledge ;" and thereupon he took to 
speculation. It was all feet — but little or no 
mining. Every body wanted to realize the 
grand result without delay. 

This was the memorable period to which I 
alluded in a former article, when lodgings in a 
sheep-corral had to be paid for at the rate of 
fifty cents per night in advance ; when no man 
could safely undertake to sleep under the lee 
of a quartz-boulder, in consequence of that 
claim being guarded by a prior occupant armed 
with a six-shooter ; Avhen it was a luxury to sit 
all night by a stove, or stand against a post be- 
hind a six-feet tent. I have heard of men who | 
contrived to get through the coldest part of the ! 
season by sleeping when the sun was warm, and j 
running up and down Lander Hill all night ; ; 
and another man who staved off the pangs of 
hunger by lying on his back for an hour or so ; 
at meal-times with a quartz -boulder on his 
stomach. Of the wild speculations in mineral 
ledges it is needless for me to speak in detail. 
The subject is a sore one for some of my friends 
in San Francisco. A notable instance was re- 
lated to me as characteristic of the spirit of the 
times. An adventurer, with nothing to sus- 




, i 

ceivcd that the ore was the btffJ k i n<l of <hl«>r- I ** Pott-hole Ledge" attracted murli attct | 
id silver: ami he staked off his ledge, putting at the tune. I am told the purchaser docs no' 
down himself and numerous friends ns h>cntor*. place much confidence in the hone«fy «.f the 
Hut speculation was too keen and too grasping I discoverer, whom he at (ir*l n -garded a* a tin 
for him to profit by the working of his mine, gularly verdant man to II out at such a price. 
An immediate oiVer of $f.O,(H>0 was made him hut now consider* a cunning rogur. 
for his discovery, and he was f<>«d enough to K«>r«»< eing that mill* w«»uld lw nffe»*arv t- 
sell out, pocket his money, and retire from the w<>rk - Mcun, HueJ and I>.r*cv tool 

mining business. At least every body thought time b\ the torch* k, and in June and* Juh 
lie w as a .simpleton, till an assay of the <»r«- I *r.,1, creeled a thc-Mainp mill in 

made. It was not chlorid of -\\\ < r. it was only which in now known a* the Calif, 
chlorid of lead — which may be \.i!uaMc some During the name hi. miner the Rhl -!•■ Idand 
day, when lead rises to a dollar a pound. The I'niou, Pioneer, nn.l Clifton BlDf W9tt limit 

The Oregon Mill wan commenced •« 
May. but not finished and in running 
order till January, 1*04. This and the 
Pioneer were ten-stamp milla. All the 
rest had hut five Mampa each. 

The work of building mill* in thi» 

« afton. 
I Mill 

Iff for joists and beam* «a» ex- 


a thousand. The coat of trans- 
portation from California was a heavy 
item — freight being eighteen cents a 
pound from Sacramento. To get tin 
necessary machinery aeroaa the mount- 
ains was a BOM laborious and cx|»cns~ 
ivc undertaking. There was scarce- 
ly any thing in the country but the 
stones upon which to build the foun- 
dations. The mines had produced 
comparatively nothing as yet, and the 
greatest difficulty was to procure the 
capital for the prosecution of these en- 
terprises. Besides, little was known 
of the quality of the ores or the proper 
manner of treating them. It was a 
mere experiment— but a very bold one. 




By the rude process of crushing and amalgam- 
ation the wastage was great, and the result by 
no means encouraging. 

Mr. Vanderbosch, finding from the working 
of the first ores that it would be a losing busi- 
ness, and that a different plan must be adopt- 
ed, erected a roasting furnace in March, 1 864, 
which was a perfect success. It was the great 
event in the history of Reese River. Many had 
begun to despair of getting any thing out of the 
ores ; but the roasting process proved at once 
that they could be successfully and profitably 
worked. The experiment was made under the 
most discouraging circumstances. The weather 
was so cold that the bricks of the furnaces had 
to be covered with blankets to keep any heat 
in them ; and the machinery was of the most 
primitive kind. Still it was a success. The 
yield was remarkable considering all things — 
ranging from $150 to $1750 to the ton. The 
first class chlorids averaged from $300 to 
$500; second class from $150 to $300; and 
the third class would have yielded from $100 
to $150; but it was not considered profitable 
to work them so long as there was an abund- 
ance of superior ores. The cost of working 
Vol. XXXIII.— No. 193.— C 

was about $80. It is now, as announced, 
somewhat less. 

During the latter part of 18G3 the natural 
result of the wild speculations which had been 
going on during the year became apparent. 
Little or no work had been done on the ledges. 
Miners had expended all their means, and no- 
thing was coming in to keep them in food and 
raiment. Outsiders began to feel their pockets 
and wonder if there was any thing in this Reese 
River country. The success of the Vander- 
bosch's mill, and the development of the Ore- 
gon ledges during the ensuing spring, had an 
encouraging effect. Things began to brighten 
up ; and San Francisco capital began to flow 
in. About $2,000,000 were invested in mines, 
mills, etc. daring the year 1864. 

The total amount of bullion shipped to San 
Francisco in 1863 was $50,000; in 1864, 
$600,000. The shipments during the year 
1865 up to August averaged about $100,000 
per month. 

Very little, so far, came from the outside 

Before the close of 1864 a panic took place 
in the Reese River stocks. Some of the lead- 



ing mines, which had been opened to the depth I dozen inhabitant- im;-t ha\e it- Mayor and 

of sixty or seventy feet, had reached poor or 
barren rock, and a general impression prevailed 
that the ledges were not permanent. A tear- 
ful state of de])ression followed. Money wa - 
scarce, and it was impossible to go on working 
without capital. The supplies from San Fran- 
cisco stopped. Those who owned stocks be- 
came tired of paying assessments; and now 
that there seemed no hope of returns in the 
future, many allowed themselves to be sold 

The miners themselves remained confident 
— never for a moment losing faith in the mines. 
Such of them as were able continued t<> work 
on the ledges, hoping in time to get through 
the barren streak. 

It is a leading peculiarity of the Ameriean 
people that they carry with them into even 
new territory their municipal and political in- 
stitutions. A " citv" of two houses and half a 

Common Council, its primary meetings, and 
election excitement-. An Ameriean could no 
more live without making -p< echefl <'f hearing 
them, holding office or \oiing -oinebodv ebo 
into otliee. participating in u torch light proces- 
sion, or flourishing his hat over it, than he could 
without his new>papcr or his daily "tod." 

Austin was not exempt from this notable feat- 
ure in American life. The city charter was pars- 
ed with due solemnity in April, 1M»4. Public 
rejoicings followed a* a matter of course. Therv 
was immense excitement at this time touching 
the political issues of the day. Republicans ami 
Copperheads were pretty evenly d hided ; ami 
the state of feeling between them was exreed- 
j ingly lively, if m>t hostile. A great deal of 
I betting took place on the test question*, the 
chief of which was the election of Mnvor. 
, Even' man felt not only a local and personal 
but n national interest in the result. The two 
candidates were well matched. 
On the Democratic side was my 
friend David K. Hud — "UneJfl 
Dave," as his fellow - citiicns 
familiarly called htm— a man 
of im|N»«ing presence, »ix-fcct- 
four, ami large in proportion, 
without a fault *a\c that of bc- 

lo ihe 
mm a 

and with a frai 
hand war abo 
womlerfullv t 
honest miner 
miner himscll 
loch rcnututin 

mcsty. A more popular cau- 
date could not have been 
oscn to give strength and 
spectabilily to a laid cause, 
was expected that he would 
rry a large portion of the 
publicans, and doubtless he 
mm have done SQ at anv 

other time. The other can- 
didate was Charles lIolbn>ok, 

actcr and fine business capaci- 
ty. Holbrook had just erected 
a handsome store, built of cut 
granite, and was one of the 
leading merchants. His in- 
tegrity was undoubted, his in- 
telligence of a superior order, 
and his political faith ultra- 
Union. The gladiators went 
heart and soul into the fighl. 
Netting was the order of the 
day. Ea h party was perfectly 
confident of success. Among 
the Lets made w :i , ,.„,. ,, t ;l 
somewhat eccentric character. 
Dr. H. S. Herrick entered too 
an agreement with R. C. Grid- 
lev to the following effect I if 
Duel was elected, Herrick was 



to carry a sack of flour 
from Clifton to Upper 
Austin, the distance 
being about a mile 
and a half, and the 
grade up-hill all the 
way. If Holbrook 
was elected, Gridley 
was to carry a sack of 
flour from Upper Aus- 
tin to Clifton, having 
the advantage of the 
down-hill grade. 

The battle was ex- 
citing, but it was 
bravely and honorably 
fought on both sides. 
Holbrook, the Repub- 
lican candidate, was 
elected by a fair ma- 
jority. The sentiment 

of the people was sound when it came to the 
great question of maintaining the Union. 

Gridley, true to his engagement, was on 
hand at the appointed time with his sack of 
flour. An immense concourse of people had 
assembled in Upper Austin to witness the novel 
performance. Laughter and good-humor pre- 
vailed on all sides. The best feeling existed 
between the victorious and the defeated can- 
didates. Winners and losers enjoyed the scene 
with equal gusto. A grand procession was 
formed, headed by an excellent band of music. 
The newly-elected officers, including his Honor 
the Mayor, followed the musicians, mounted 
on horseback. Next to them came the hero 
of the day, the redoubtable Gridley, with a sack 
of flour on his back. On each side inarched a 
standard-bearer, carrying high in the air the 
flag of the Union. Gridley stood up to his 
task like a man, never flinching before the glo- 
rious emblem of liberty. If the truth were 
known, he worshiped it in his heart, though he 
had an eccentric way of showing it. Friends, 
citizens, and strangers followed. Never was 
there seen such a lively crowd in Austin. " Go 
it, Gridley ! " ' ' Stick to it, Gridley ! " " Nev- 
er say die, Gridley ! " were the encouraging 
words that cheered him on all sides. 

Arrived at Clifton, it was suggested by some 
enterprising genius, whose speculative spirit 
kept pace with his patriotism, that the sack of 
flour should be sold for the benefit of the San- 
itary Commission. The proposition was re- 
ceived with unbounded applause. In a mo- 
ment an empty barrel or a dry-goods box was 
found, and an auctioneer mounted upon it. 
The bidding was lively ; but the crowd were 
not quite warmed up to the joke, and the flour 
only brought five dollars. 

It was then determined that there should be 
another auction held in Austin. The sack of 
flour was taken up again, and the procession 
started back with it — this time marching to the 
tune of "Dixie." The most uncompromising 
Copperhead was won over; and all united in 


common sympathy for the suffering soldiers. 
It was a clever stroke of policy for the Repub- 
licans. The procession halted in front of the 
store owned by his Honor the Mayor. By this 
time the crowd was immense. Every body 
turned out to see the fun : miners from their 
holes in the ground ; Reese River capitalists 
from their shanties ; business men from their 
stores ; women and children from their cot- 
tages and cabins. 

The sack of flour was once more put up at 
auction with a general hurrah. This time the 
bidders were in earnest. They hid by the hun- 
dred, and by fifties and by twenties, many bid- 
ding against themselves. Republicans and 
Democrats bid without distinction of party. 
The best feeling prevailed; and $3000 was the 
grand result ! The last purchaser always do- 
nated his purchase back to the Sanitary Fund. 
A third auction was held on the following day. 
The result on this occasion was $1700. The 
nucleus of so large a fund thus formed aroused 
the patriotic fire in the soul of Gridley. It 
was a glorious cause that could thus win the 
sympathies of every party. Henceforth Grid- 
ley was with it, body and soul. He would 
make an institution of this sack of flour. He 
would immortalize it — make a magnificent do- 
nation to the sick soldiers and a reputation for 
himself. So Gridley set forth with his sack of 
flour. It was sold at Virginia City for $8000; 
at Sacramento for $10,000; and at San Fran- 
cisco for about $15,000. I was witness to the 
procession in San Francisco. It was the mem- 
orable event of the times. Never did Mont- 
gomery Street present a more imposing ap- 
pearance. The beauty and fashion of the city 
were there ; and so was Gridley, decked out in 
glorious array, the observed of all observers. 
Who would not have been Gridley then — gazed 
at as the great man of the age ? What would 
Grant or Sherman have amounted to when 
Gridley was in view ? Thus did Gridley draw 
the surplus cash from the pockets of the gen- 
erous public ; and thus did he do good service 



All honor to Grid- 



in the cause of freedom, 

Of the career of this distinguished gcntle- 
man on the Atlantic side I have read won 
ful newspaper accounts. lie was feted, ami 
gazed at, and admired, and hurrahed, and print- 
ed in weekly pictorials, and puffed, and joked 
— was the irrepressible Gridley j and the gnu 1 
finale was $100,000 to the Sanitary Commift- 
sion! Ever praised, ever sung in nog bfl 
Gridley! It was a nohle speculation, based 
upon a sack of flour and the popular sympathy 
for a noble cause. It commenced in Austin 
and ended with a net profit of s1<kmmm» t<> the 
suffering soldiers, and immortality to the MUM 
of Gridley. 

On the strength of his fame Gridley DC 
interested with Mr. John W. Barker and 
er experienced financiers, and raised mffl 

capital in New York to return t<» Austin ! 
start a hank. The great hanking establi-h 
mcnt called the "First National Bank of N 
vada" is now one of the prominent institutions 
of the country. 

Bucl, after his defeat for the Mayoralty 
Austin, concluded to run for tho Govcrnoi 
of the State. He was nominated by the Con- 
vention nt Carson — alas for Bucl I The State 
was gloriously Republican. M\ worthy friend 
was sanguine to the la-t ; lie had many totes, 
hut failed for want of votes . nough. M.i\ he 

have better Luck in his choice of party next 
time! He is a good fellow, and deserves to 
win in a good cause. Morally, lie lives; 
politically, he is a dead BlttL 

I now como to a stand-point, from which I 
think we may take a general view of the eoun 
try with special reference to it* resources and 
future prospects. Hie elaborate of 
Professors Silliman. Jackson, and A'.leherg; 
who visited Ree-e River during the rear 1885, 
leave me hut little to say, oven if I wer- 
tcnt, in relation to it> geological feature! : and 
the admirahle detailed rep..:: > o| NIr. ( la\ ton on 
the individual ledges have quite exhausted that 
branch of the subject. A summary of \,hat I 
saw myself in my unlearned way, w ith wh i I 
gathered from practical miners and expert-, 
may euahle the general reader to form a more 
vivid and comprehensive idea of the country 
than could be derived from purely scientific i, 

The district of Reese River lies on the west- 
ern slope of the Toyahe range of mountain-, 
and is distant from Virginia City, by the ( hrer- 
land Mail Route, 170 miles. It embrace! I 
tract of hilly country some eight miles in length 
by four in width, bounded on the north by the 
Yankee Blade Canon, on the west by the 1; i 
River Valley, on the south by Simpson's Park, 
and on the east by the summit of the Toyahe 
range. Within these limits are situated, in 
close proximity to the main canon which run! 
from Reese River Valley to the summit, these 
spurs or hills of the Toyahe range know n as 

"Lander Hill," '-.Mount Promethean,* 1 nud 
"Central Hill," in which the principal discov- 
eries of silvcr-U-aring veins have been made. 
Austin, the chief town ami count) scat of Lan- 
der County, lies high up in the canon, extend- 
ing along it for a distance of more than a mile, 
with a broad main street, intersected by crow 
streets running up to the left over the lower 
-1..J.C- of the !. !!-. It . ntaiiH .it the present 
time (January, \*G(l) a |»cnnancnt imputation 

-i — . • ■ » 

ed in front by row* of scrubby pine* stuck in 
the frnmmL ' Amomr them are *«>me r»rett> 

fort* and even the In: 
private residence*. «n 
Mr. Rankin-, are »ub 

urn. lAiux'i asxac. Atari*. 
In the busincM p.irt of the town, on the mnin 

The general 

■rful and 

dication of prm|»erit v. 
of the l»e*t I have m-c 
active, induMriou*. ho* 


ulatmn i* one 
lining town — 
J orderly, b 
|Kiint of moral* I do not believe there is a bet- 
j tcr condition of society in any community of 
equal number on the Pacific coast. Thi* fj 
mainly attributable to the fact that a larger pro- 
j portion of the population consists of women ami 
children than in most new mining towns ; and 
in part to the prevailing scarcity of *urplu» 
means. Kvcry man ha* to labor for a living. 
' There i* not much chance for gambler* or idler* ; 
consequently there arc few of them. 

The Toyahe range of mountain*, in which 
most of the discoveries of silver ledge- now at 
' trading attention have l»cen made, commence? 
near the Humboldt River, abonl 100 muV» 
north of Au-tin. and extends in a southerly 
course, trending slightly to the west, a distance 
of 17"> miles, where it terminates in the high 
desert plateau, which forms the southern rim 



of the Great Basin. Formerly the Overland 
Telegraph and Mail Routes crossed it a few 
miles to the north of Pony Canon ; but since 
the building of Austin both telegraph line and 
overland stages pass directly through that city 
and across the head of Big Smoky Valley. 

The characteristic appearance of the Toyahe 
Mountains is that of extreme barrenness. The 
canons and a few of the open slopes are dotted 
with a scrubby growth of nut-pine, juniper, 
white-pine, and a hard, scraggy kind of timber 
called mountain mahogany. In the vicinity 
of Austin most of the wood has been cut away 
for fuel and other purposes in the progress of 
mining ; but north and south, from eight to 
ten miles distant, there is still a sufficient sup- 
ply to last for several years, probably five or 
six. In the Smoky Valley districts the quan- 
tity of wood is much greater ; and it will prob- 
ably be many years before any difficulty will be 
experienced on that score. The barren aspect 
of the mountains arises more from the extreme 
dryness of the climate than from any want of 
fertility in the soil. During the rainy season 
bunch-grass flourishes all over the hill-sides, af- 
fording a fine pasturage for stock ; and wherever 
there is water for irrigation the land is highly 
productive. The valleys are entirely destitute 
of timber, presenting a singularly desert-like 
appearance, except in those portions which are 
sufficiently moist to give a tinge of green to the 
everlasting sage-bushes by which they are cov- 

Although it is not my purpose, as before 
stated, to attempt an elaborate description of 
the geological features of the Toyahe range, 
the great interest felt throughout the East in 
the development of the Reese River and adja- 
cent districts, will justify me in making a brief 
summary of the prominent points. In doing 
this I take pleasure in acknowledging my in- 
debtedness to Mr. W. C. Prescott, who has 
done more perhaps to encourage the introduc- 
tion of Eastern capital than any person who 
has yet visited the country. Mr. Prescott is 
well known throughout the East, not only from 
his connection with the family of the distin- 
guished historian — the late lamented William 
H. Prescott — but from the high reputation 
which he has achieved by his reports on the 
mineral resources of Central Nevada. As rep- 
resentative of the " Sterling Mining Company" 
of New York, whose possessions lie in Smoky 
Valley, he first visited that region in January, 
1865, and subsequently made a thorough scien- 
tific reconnoissance of all the adjacent districts. 

Mr. Prescott is of opinion that the rocks com- 
posing the Toyahe range belong to the earlier 
geological periods, as in all productive argent- 
iferous regions. The ore-bearing ledges re- 
pose in these rocks, all of which are highly 
metamorphic, and many of them stratified. At 
and around Austin the numerous parallel veins 
are well disposed, with smooth and fine lateral 
faces, separated by a clayey seam of variable 
thickness, from a wall rock which is popularly 

called granite, and which has been received as 
such by some geologists. One theory is, that 
this district is a granitic basin, rupturing the 
transition series, and affording the anomaly of 
rich silver veins reposing in primitive or Plu- 
tonic rocks. Mr. Prescott thinks this granitic 
rock is transition in character, being the pro- 
duct of older granite, which has been pulver- 
ized and re-cemented, forming a highly meta- 
morphic and altered granite, akin to gneiss and 
the earlier slates and schists of the Azoic peri- 
od, and conforming fully to the series in which 
is found most of the other minerals of the range, 
of which, in addition to the slates, porphyry, 
gneiss, transition limestone, calc-spar, sand- 
stone, and a variety of magnesian rocks, are the 
most important. Considering the granite de- 
posit in this light, the geology of the Toyahe 
range is not only harmonized, but also in agree- 
ment with the corresponding Mexican ranges. 
The veins in Lander Hill, Mount Prometheus, 
and Central Hill, and in fact throughout the 
district of Reese River, are narrow, ranging 
generally from fourteen to twenty inches in 
width, and rarely exceeding three feet. This 
characteristic has given rise to the term "razor- 
back ledges," so much in vogue among the 
Washoeites, who profess a contempt for the 
Reese River ledges as compared with the great 
Comstock. Their exceeding richness, how- 
ever, compensates in a great measure for their 
lack of width. I have taken out ores myself 
from a mine in Lander Hill which assayed up- 
ward of $7000 to the ton ; and I saw an assay 
of ore made which yielded at the rate of 
$10,000 per ton. One, two, and three thou- 
sand dollars are results which scarcely attract 
attention. The Austin ledges seldom show 
distinct or prominent croppings on the surface 
as in neighboring districts. 

In that part of the Toyahe range which 
slopes into Smoky Valley, the quartz ledges lie 
boldly above the surface, in compact form, 
showing great width and strong traits of depth 
and permanency. As a general feature they 
have no clayey or slaty partitions, but lie in 
direct contact with the smooth faces of the 
granite formation already described. These sil- 
ver-bearing veins at times protrude far beyond 
the slates, and at the surface are much leaner 
than below. 

One of the advantages claimed for the ledges 
near Austin is the facility with which they can 
be worked. The granite formation in which 
they lie is soft, and blasting is but little re- 
quired in getting out the ores. They are all 
true fissure veins, with well-defined casings. 
The clay seam between the quartz and the 
casings renders the excavation of the ores com- 
paratively easy. 

The chlorid ores reach from the surface to 
a depth of GO or 70 feet. Then comes a lean 
or barren streak, extending down from 20 to 
30 feet to what is called the water-level. It 
was this unproductive stratum which caused the 
extraordinary depression of mining stocks in 




1884. Bill experience has fanOBfltratad, in 
every case where the excavation* have extend 
ed below the water-level, that the \ «• i n eontlll 
ues unbroken, ami with every pr<.mi<e of p.-r 
manency, to an unknown depth. The experi- 
ence of the Oregon. North Star. Southern Light, 
Diana, Savage, Morgan ami Mumm-v. \\ .- 
ton Irving, Prm identia. SoottUO C!m-f. (iea- 
eral Hooker, St. Louis Hal. bar.!, an 1 other 
leading mines whieh have been worked to an\ 
considerable depth. i> MithYient ffrfdfllMt ofthe 
riciiness, depth, and permanency ot' the 1 lg. 
Splendid ruby and nntimonial ores are Don 
being taken out of all these mines, the lowflflf 
grade of whieh seldom falN short of 0100 to 
the ton, while from to >C,oo is a common 

yield. Insufficient machinery for pumping and 
hoisting has hitherto been the great' drawback 
to the profitable working of the mines. The 
miners, who have held on to their claims through 
all the fluctuations and alann ofthfl ptst two 
years, are now reduced to the neco-itv of call- 
ing in the aid of capital. This, in part, "account 
for the extraordinary number of claims now 
flooding the markets of Xew York. 

That many swindles have been perpetrated, 
and many worthless claims palmed off on a 
credulous public, is beyond dispute ; but it i< 
both unreasonable and unjust to condemn the 
whole country because dishonest men engage 

in nefarious speculation* detrimental to it* in- 
terests. If there arc no good mine* in the 
Kecsc Kivcr Country, where enn we |. L for 
them? The man who i* cheated in • hone 
would be laughed at if he complained that there 
are no ginnl home*. Mining speculation! are 
much on a par with speculations in horse -flesh 
Brokers and horsc-jo* kevs gencrallr make their 
profit* from the credulitv of the 
If every purehaaer personally 
mines offered to him, or availed 
*ervicc» of an cxju-ricneed agen 
be Icvh disappointment in the 

The general direction (»f the 
Toy a lie range is north- north wc 
southeast, with a dip to the east. 

low -men. 
ined the 

■re would 
liiieut of 

The pit< 

lverage inclining from 

toU-r the climate i* mild ; 
id the »ky almost invariably 
The extreme raritv of the 

to 45°. 

From May to ( 
seldom too warm, 
bright and clear, 
atmosphere at thi 

the level of the j»ea, and the absence of ni : 
ure, give rise to a peculiar form of intermit 
tent fever, called by emigrants and miners the 
mountain fever. Otherwise it would he iiffl 
cult to find a more healthy climate. The win 
tersare cold, though sometimes open and pleaa- 
ant. On the north side of the hills the miom 



usually lies from No- 
vember to May. In 
the valleys it seldom 
remains more than a 
few days at a time, and 
rarely interrupts com- 
munication by the pub- 
lic highways. 

Some idea of the 
wonderful progress of 
Central Nevada may 
be formed from a 
glance at the number 
of mining districts 
which have been es- 
tablished since the dis- 
covery of the Reese 
River mines. Austin 
maybe considered the 
central point from 
which these districts 

radiate. Mills have already been erected in many 
of them, and active operations in the way of de- 
veloping the mines are now going on in most 
of them. The following are the principal dis- 
tricts, located within the past three years, with 
the distances from Austin, viz. : Yankee Blade, 
4 miles ; Amador, 6 ; Big Creek, 12 ; Geneva, 
15; Santa Fe', 22; Bunker Hill, 30; Summit, 
20 ; Ravenswood, 20 ; Washington, 35 ; Marys- 
ville, 45 ; Union, 63 ; Twin River, 65 ; Mam- 
moth, 63 ; Diamond, 80 ; Cortez, 60 ; San An- 
tonio, 100; Silver Peak, 125; lone, 75; E. 
Walker River, 120; Egan Canon, 160. 

These do not by any means comprise all 
the valuable districts which have been opened 
throughout the interior, and on the confines of 
Nevada. I refer to them as having intercourse 
with Austin, and contributing in a great meas- 
ure to the importance of that place as a market 
for the trade of the mines. 

An important step toward the encourage- 
ment of investments from the East was made in 
September, 1864, by the Midas Silver Mining 
Company, of New York. Colonel J. V. Rob- 
bins came over to Reese as agent of the Com- 



pany, and commenced the erection of a large 
mill on the left side of the old Telegraph Canon, 
about three miles distant from Austin. In three 
months and nine days it was completed and in 
running order. The building is of brick, with 
a handsome brick smoke-stack, and contains a 
battery-room with fifteen stamps ; an amal- 
gamating-room, with eight Freiberg barrels and 
the necessary pans, separators, retorting fur- 
naces, etc., and a large roasting-chamber, with 
the best fire-brick furnaces, all admirably ar- 
ranged for convenience of access and economy 
of labor. The .Midas Mill is, in all respects, 
one of the most perfect establishments of the 
kind in the State of Nevada. The machinery 
is of the latest and most approved kind, and 
works with wonderful steadiness and precision. 
It is no unusual thing to crush, roast, and amal- 
gamate ten tons of rock per day. Under the 
careful management of Colonel Robbins, the 
result has been an average yield of $300 to 
$400 per ton of first-class ores; $150 to $200 
of second-class; and $80 to $100 of third-class. 
The Midas Company own several valuable ledges 
in the vicinity, chief among which is the Midas, 
situated near the entrance to Yankee Blade 
Canon. The yield of this mine has of late 
been such as to give great confidence to mining 
enterprises in this region. Already the Com- 
pany have declared a handsome dividend ; and 
the probability is, still larger dividends will be 
declared during the present year. 

The success of the Midas Company's opera- 
tions has demonstrated the value of good mill 
and mining property. Recently a magnificent 
mill has been erected on the southern slope of 
the old Emigrant Canon, within a mile of Aus- 
tin, by some Pennsylvanian capitalists, under 
the title of the Keystone Silver Mining Com- 
pany. The work was done under the personal 
supervision of Captain Addison L. Page, Super- 
intendent of the Company, and is admirable 
of its kind. The mill is of brick and stone, 
with the latest improvements in machinery. It 
contains a splendid battery of twenty stamps, 


the kETimixB mix. 

an engine and boiler-room, an extensive n a-t 
ing chamber, and nn MwdgunattBg >!. ]•. m 
mcnt second to none in the country. The 
Keystone Mill ha- -ufii ■ : • 
and amalgamate twenty tun* of ore jmt dav. 
The Company owns three or f<»nr mim r 
connection with its mill property. AflMMg 
these the " Scottish Chief," dtntttd og Lander 
Hill, is at present the most j ■ ■ Ttii-imr. Tin- 
ores from this mine run from t\\.. t<> tivc hun- 
dred dollars to the ton. 

Another wealthy nn<l cntcrpri-ing Eastern 
company has erected a line mill. »hout three 
miles farther to the north, at the entrance ft 
the Yankee Blade ( SafiOn — know n a- the • < !ofl 
fidencc Mill." This is of the same , „j,-, 
and built upon very nearly the same g. • 
plan as the Keystone. Situated near tin 
tre of a hclt of rich mineral ledges, several of 
which are owned by the Confidence Ci»mpan\. 
it enjoys the prospect of an unlimited mpplj 
of ores. Two gentlemen from New V..rk. Mr. 
Fearing and Mr. Hoyden, have greatly Atefo- 

guished themsi-lve> f&roogaonl Central Y 

vndn by their aide management of this enter- 
prise. The " Confidence l«rdge," ii|H»n which 

A |w»wcrful engine, well protected hy a frame 

tiiiil.lini* Lm r.. i. • I I.— -., if • 

ing purpo*e», I can »ve no ren»<»n why, under 
judiciou* manngrment. the Key. tone and Con- 
fidence properties fthnuld not yield handM>nie 
rcturni to the owner* during the present num- 
tner. Kuril of thc«e mill* coat o*er Iimi.IKMI. 
Add to thu ff'JO.tmo for «»nVc* and outbuild- 

I make 
and not 
parties < 
The 1 
Miuth <d 

I u|H»n my o*n judgment, 
urination derived from the 

the growing interest felt in this region bv Ka*t- 
ern Mr .F i n 1'arrott, the San 
Francisco banker, was the chief originator of 
this enterprise. The Company U known a» 

ill: ' "M n<ES> r. MI! L 



the "Reese River Mining Company"— and 
Messrs. Duncan, Sherman, and Co., bankers, 
Messrs. Hitchcock and Darling (of the Fifth 
Avenue Hotel), Treanor W. Parke, Esq., and 
John Parrott, are supposed to be the principal 
owners of stock. The mill has just been com- 
pleted under the superintendence of Captain 
Gager. It is a magnificent building, with 
strong wood frame-work and boarding, sub- 
stantial stone foundations, and all the con- 
veniences for working the ores by the most ap- 
proved system. The Reese River Company 
owns a number of ledges in the adjacent hills, 
a large tract of wood-land, and a fine saw-mill, 
which has already paid for itself. Among the 
valuable ledges also owned by this Company in 
Lander Hill is the Providentia, in which some 
extraordinary "strikes" have recently been 
made at a depth of 300 feet. The vein is not 
w id e — ranging only from two to three feet — 
but the ore is wonderfully rich. I saw aver- 
age specimens taken out which assayed at the 
rate of $2000 to the ton. 

Bud's Mill at Big Creek, three miles above 

the Parrott, is another specimen of the im- 
proved class of mills. The battery consists of 
ten stamps, and the furnaces and amalgamating 
department are of corresponding capacity. Con- 
nected with the mill is a fine town property, pos- 
sessing the advantage of a plentiful and never- 
failing supply of water. Canon City is situated 
at the entrance of the canon, and Watertown 
immediately below. Two years ago there was 
an extraordinary degree of activity in town 
lots at this place. Every body thought it was 
the proper site for the great mining capital; 
and forthwith a town sprang up, with an ex- 
press office, numerous stores and saloons, and 
a branch telegraph line. When the town was 
built and filled with inhabitants the question 
arose — What was it all about, and what were 
they to do ? No valuable ledges had yet been 
discovered in the vicinity. Water was plenty, 
but the citizens could not live exclusively on 
water. So the town was as quickly abandoned 
as it was built ; and now it stands — a long street 
of empty houses. The truth is, people were 
insane about that time. The property is really 




the moiniuro erapora- 
tcd. Ii is then crtikh- 
• i tin* in the Iwttrriea 
and taken from them 
in cnr», upon a railway 
loading lo a *crie« of 
hopper* in the furnace 
riH»tn. From the hop 
i«cr* It i* shaken down 

ir* at a charge. 

fn I ho 

i>nia>.i i>i in u. b miii. 

valuaMe. It embraces tin- ho*t water privilogi 

any where in the neighbor!) I <»f Austin 

Within a few years, when the « "iintry bocomo 
settled, it is destined t < » he the centre of an in 
imtrions farming and manufacturing p<«pula 
tion. It is one of the few places where *cg© 
tahles can he abundantly rained, and when 
mills can he run by water -power — a valunhli 
consideration in a mining cmntry. 

The high cost of reducing the ores has hith- *oon m» 
crto been a great drawha< k to the pro»|writ v of iitv rem* 
the mining interests. While the Wadioo mill* 
can make hand-oine p:«':i:> «>n <>r<H ranging water to 
from *'J<) to #100 per ton, the II liner I 

mills are cotnpelle.l. in e<»n-e.picueo of the ad i« t '! 

ditional cost of roasting, to charge from to of the m 
$100 per ton. None 

! ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

I : en-llv V 

ing. A large a:-; • •. I " v y> .. . 

pense of wm-1 
mines is lost. Mill- 
that could reduce *40 
and $50 ores, with ad- 
vantage to themselves 
and the miners, would 
soon make handsome 
fortunes. There is 
plenty of that grade of 
ore now lying waste 
over the hills. 

In this connection a 
brief description of the 
process of reduction, 
under the improved 
system, may not be un- 

When the ore is de- 
livered at the mill, it 
is placed in a kiln and 

•alt ti«c 

a chlorine gam which has a »trong affliu 
ver, and form* after dcaulphuriaation i 
of ml • ■ r The h*ar mrtal* are tniMtli 
i*ed, and thut •ctxiralcd frura tho »ih 

i ■■MM 





which is conducted by 
means of revolving 
barrels. Wheeler pans 
are also extensively 
used. Differences of 
opinion exist as to the 
relative advantages of 
the various methods 
of amalgamation. A 
common practice is, to 
precipitate the chlo- 
rid of silver by means 
of copper arms revolv- 
ing in tubs. Steam 
is injected through 
small holes in the bot- 
tom of each tub, dis- 
seminating the quick- 
silver through the re- 
volving mass. The 
silver chlorids, by con- 
tact with the copper arms, are precipitated in 
the form of metallic silver, leaving as a resid- 
uum a chlorid of copper, which flows off into 
the tailings when the tubs are discharged. This 
process usually lasts from three to four hours. 
The silver thus collected is then placed in re- 
torts and smelted. The best mills produce 
bullion ranging from 000 to 1000 fine. 

A brief reference to the great mining enter- 
prise of the "United Reese River Company" 
must close my remarks on the present condition 
of Austin and its neighborhood. This Com- 
pany was organized for the purpose of securing 
leading interests in the best mines. The main 
principle upon which it is based is, to concen- 
trate capital upon the development of all meri- 
torious ledges, and furnish the mills with a 
steady and ample supply of ores. The Com- 
pany have already leased a mill at Austin, and 
are now working it on their own account, be- 
sides furnishing work for custom mills. Where 
machinery is necessary for hoisting or pump- 
ing, or new shafts or drifts have to be run, they 
co-operate with other stock-holders in the la- 
bor and expense of development^ giving the 
weight of their influence and capital to the 
prosecution of the work, with the aid of relia- 
ble experts, and drawing a pro-rata share of 
the proceeds. Mines that would otherwise be 
unproductive are at once placed in a paying 
condition. The Company starts with a capital 
of two millions of dollars, of which sufficient 
has been paid in to secure the practical control 
of some of the best mines in the Reese River 
district. By drawing their supplies of ores 
from so many different sources, under the gen- 
eral supervision of an experienced agent, any 
failure in a particular ledge is not apt to affect 
the average result. At this time active opera- 
tions are in progress on several ledges of estab- 
lished reputation. Valuable interests are held 
in the Diana, North Star, Oregon, Apollo, Jo 
Lane, Blue Ledge, Black Ledge, Governor 
Seymour, Chicago Southern Light, Whitlatch 
Union, and many others well known as pro- 


ductive mines. The Whitlatch Union enjoyed 
for a time an extraordinary reputation. The 
width of its ledge and the richness of its ores 
gave it a speculative value beyond all reason- 
able estimate. Last year the vein suddenly 
broke off, and the stock - holders expended 
$40,000 in trying to find it again. All other 
stocks became depressed in consequence of this 
unexpected event. The utmost confidence, 
however, prevailed among experts that the 
ledge was somewhere near. It had not "pe- 
tered out," but seemed to be cut square off by 
some convulsion of the earth. Recently a re- 
markable discovery was made. The disloca- 
tion, instead of causing the ledge to drop down, 
had thrown it up, and all the explorations had 
run below it — in some cases following it, in a 
parallel line, within three feet ! It is now 
opening out as rich as ever, with unquestion- 
able evidences of permanency. The Board of 
Managers, under the control of Mr. Marker as 
President, and Mr. N. C. Fasset as Secretary, 
have their office in San Francisco. Mr. Ray- 
mond is general agent at Austin. The busi- 
ness of the Company is conducted with fidelity 
and judgment, and there can be no reasonable 
doubt as to the success of this important enter- 
prise. Large interests are held in New York. 
There is a sufficient surplus of earnings now in 
hand to commence the payment of dividends ; 
but the experience of the Washoe mines has 
deterred the managers from undertaking to 
pay dividends until there is a sufficiency of ore 
ahead to insure the continuance of payments 
for at least twelve months ahead without abate- 
ment. Such enterprises as this, judiciously and 
economically managed, can not fail to promote 
the best interests of the district, and encourage 
investments in mines of demonstrated value 
throughout the State. 

In summing up my impressions of this por- 
tion of the Reese River country, I must not 
omit to mention a few of the leading mines, 
which have already yielded large results, con- 



sidering the limited amount of labor ami capi- 
tal expended in working them. The " I >iana" 
is down 118 feet by perpendicular shaft, with 
an incline of 40 feet below. It now averages 
in antimonial ores and sulphurets $200 to the 
ton. A new engine of 30 horse-power has been 
erected upon it. The " Morgan ami Man* -y" 
runs parallel with the Diana at a distance of 
150 feet, and is considered one of the best 
ledges in Lander Hill. This mine |fl down 860 
feet by incline, has a 3 feet vein, ami bai yield- 
ed over two hundred thousand dollar-. The 
Savage, Oregon, North Star, and Southern 
Light are all splendid ledges, yielding the rich- 
est class of ores. The General Booker, St. 
Louis, Governor Seymour, and Washington 
Irving are in active operation with excellent 
results. The Hubbard, a rich ledge in Central 
Hill, near Upper Austin, has not only paid In 
the labor and capital expended upon it, but 
within a few months returned, in dear profit, 
the snug little sum of *1!>,<><>0 to the owner-. 
The Eagle Mill and its mining property is pay- 
ing handsomely. 

After nearly three months of hard experi 
cnee, during which I scarcely passed a day 
without exploring one or more of the mine, I 
am thoroughly convinced this is the ri< he-t of 
our mineral region^. Whether all the mining 
enterprises now in progress will pa\ is atiotln r 
question. I think Eastern people arc too easi- 
ly imposed upon by specious representations, 
and have too great a tendency to expend large 
sums of money in the erection of mills and 
offices before they fully develop their ledge-. 

This evil will cure itself in time. I'ndoubtod- 
Iv there will be heavy lo-es in imli\ ci-,-- : 
but I am fully satisfied there will be a large 
average of sueee-s where capital is judiciously 
invested, and mills and mines economically 
: managed. 

Senator Stewart, on his wa> back from the 
State- la-t -uniiuer. to. k < a-i«'ti. in the i ■•ui-. 
of a speec h at Austin. t-« dwell ti|x>n the great 
ad\antagcs that would be derived from the 
specdv eon-tructioti of the Pacific Railroad. 
There was only one part of the honorable Sen- 
ator's sjx'cch to which an\ ol his uudilor* could 
take exception ; and, as I happen to be special - 
Iv interested in that, I will mention it. Mr. 
Stewart said the people of the Last had no idea 
of Nevada except what the\ derived from cer- 
tain caricatures in I/ar/trr'» IfayMSJM Kvcry 
ImhIv read 1/arpcr's, and. a* a mutter of toumo, 
even body thought the mines wore a humbug; 

1 the miners a race of savage*, armed to the teeth 
with | . - • : Iniwic-knivcs ; and the elimate 

so boisterous that it was nccesaanr to cling to 

i aw ning- posts to keep from being blown away! 
V,\., M: v. v.irt know- \en well Virginia 
Citv is 101 Nevada ; but it was a good point to 
make before an audience of his constituents. 
He intimated that if the writer would 1* »cri- 
ous for once in his life, and devote bis pen to 
the tmc interests of the country, be could do 
us much through the pages of llaqtr toward 
the I. adding of the Pacific Kailnuul a* an* man 
living. Mr. Stewart will admit that there is a 
reformation in the present article, which, it in 
hoped, will )>c found serious enough. 

( "1 1 ATT AN' - Kl \. 

A KINDLING impubo seized the h< »t 
Inspired hy heaven's Octolier air, 
Their hearts outran tlu-ir Ginoial'l pl.ui.. 
Though Grant commanded there — 
( who without reserve can dare; 
And, "Well, go on, and <lo your will." 

He said, and measured the Mountain then : 
So master-riders tlin^ the rein — 
But you must know your men. 

On yestermorn, in grayish mi-t. 

Armies, like ghosts, on hills had fought; 
And, rolled from the cloud, their thunders loud 

The Cumberland^ far had caught j 

To-day the sunlit steeps are sought. 
Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain. 

And smoked as one who feels no cares ; 
But mastered nervousness intense 

Alone such calmness wears. 

The summit-cannon plunge their flame 

Sheer down the primal wall; 
But up and up each linking troop 

In stretching festoons crawl — 

Nor fire a shot. Such men appall 
The foe, though brave. He from the brink 

Looks far along the breadth of slope. 
And sees two miles of dark dots creep. 

And knows they mean the cope. 

He see* them creep. Yet, here and there, 
Half hid 'mid leaflet* grove* they go; 

As men who j lv through trareric* hi^h 
Of turn-ted marlilea show, 
So dwindle the«c to eye* ' - 1 .• . 

But fronting shot and flanking shell 
Sliver :i'd rive the inwoven wiv< * 

High top- of oaks and high beam fall 
But never the climbing stays. 

From right to left, from left to right 

lhey roll the rallying cheer — 
Vie with each other, brother with brother, 

Who shall the first appear — 

Whnt color-l*-ar< r, with colors clear 
In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant — 

Whias cL'ar must now U- near the slump 
While, in solicitude, his hack 

Heaps slowly to a hump. 

Near and more near : till now the flag 1 - 

Kun like a catching flams; 
And one flares highest, to peril nighest- 

IIp means to make a name. 

Salvo- ! they give him his f tie . 
The staff is cauuht; and next the rush. 

And then the leap where Death has lew 
Flag answered flag along the crest. 

And swarms of rebels fled. 




ARE there on any of these globes which 
seem to be moving around us beings 
formed like ourselves, or animals, or any 
plants ? Do people on the Moon contemplate 
our Earth, a glorious orb in their firmament, 
and spy out our actions through telescopes as 
we attempt to spy out theirs ? Before the 
evening is finished I hope to be able to answer 
these questions in a satisfactory manner. 

Let us examine, in the first place, the condi- 
tions essential to the existence of the organized 
beings with which we are familiar, and then we 
will try to discover whether such conditions are 
found on any other celestial body. It will only 
be necessary to investigate a few of these con- 
ditions, because if we find any that are abso- 
lutely essential to life, whether animal or vege- 
table, missing on other globes, our purpose will 
be fulfilled. They can not be inhabited. 

To sustain the life of an animal three things 
are necessary. It must have air, water, and 
food. Why is this the case? We all know 
how soon life is extinguished if the supply of 
air to the lungs be cut off ; the person turns 
of a livid blue, becomes insensible, and soon 
dies. Or by breathing the noxious gas that 
arises from the burning of charcoal the same 
result occurs. One of the elements of the air, 
a fifth part of its bulk, is a gas — oxygen. It 
possesses the power of sustaining the operation 
of burning. In a stove, for example, if we 
desire the burning to be accelerated, we in- 
crease the draught and let in more air — that is, 
more oxygen ; if we desire to reduce the rate 
of combustion, we diminish the access of air. 
If Ave shut off the supply of air altogether the 
fire goes out. 

So it is in a human being. A burning is 
continually going on in him, and this it is that 
enables him to keep warm in spite of the cold 
of winter or of the night season. No animal 
can possibly exist without a supply of air to 
carry on combustion in its body. When we 
are about to die, and our interior production 
of heat is ceasing, we grow cold. That air is 
essential to the life of even the lowest animals 
is shown by the fact that, if water be taken in 
which animalculce are swimming, and cold ap- 
plied so as to cause it to freeze, a drop remains 
unfrozen around each of these little animated 
forms for a certain time after the rest has con- 
gealed. Heat is being produced by the ani- 
mal — to liberate that heat it must be consum- 
ing air and burning its body. 

Again, in an instance with which many of 
us are familiar, the respiration of a small ani- 
mal is shown. If on a cold day you watch a 
fly that has lighted on a dry window, a collec- 
tion of moisture, the results of his respiration, 

* A Lecture delivered before the Young Men's Christian 
Association of New York by Henry Draper, M.D., Pro- 
fessor Adjunct of Chemistry in the University of New 


will soon be seen in his neighborhood. It is 
the analogue of the larger condensation of 
vapor that would be produced were one of us 
to breathe on the same window. The fly is 
burning away and vaporizing water with the 
superfluous heat. 

To illustrate the necessity of air to the well- 
being of animals, a bird may be put under a 
glass bell jar standing on the air-pump. By 
the aid of the pump the air can be removed to 
a large extent from the bell jar, and as soon as 
the exhaustion is commenced, the bird shows 
signs of discomfort and becomes more and 
more restless as the action continues. He 
would eventually die if kept under the exhaust- 
ed jar. 

To plants air is just as necessary as to ani- 
mals, although we can not easily demonstrate 
this by a lecture-table experiment. The larger 
part of their substance is derived from the at- 
mosphere by the aid of the Sun's beams ; but 
a small portion comes in through the roots. 
Nature has so arranged the relations of plants 
to animals that they take out from the air the 
impurities that have been imparted to it by 
animals and replace the ingredients that are 
necessary to the latter. If in any planet we 
could detect the traces of vegetable life, it 
would at once be a strong argument for the 
existence of animals there, and vice ve?sa. 

But you may think that I have omitted the 
case of aquatic animals and water plants alto- 
gether. They seem to have no access to air, 
and might be fairly supposed not to require it. 
You will sustain yourselves in that opinion by 
citing the case of a man submerged in water 
who drowns, and by that of a fish brought out 
into the air that dies. Nevertheless air is nec- 
essary to all fishes ; for if you boil water and so 
expel the air from it, and then when cool put a 
fish into it, he can not live. He is in the same 
condition as the bird in the bell jar. 

The other case, that of a fish dying in the 
air, is as readily explained. A fish is not pro- 
vided with lungs as we are, but breathes the 
air dissolved in water by the aid of its gills. 
When taken out of water the gills dry up, and 
the little tufts of blood-vessels, of which they 
consist, adhere to one another so as to be un- 
able to act any longer. Some fish, as the eel, 
have, however, the means of keeping their gills 
wet by causing the mouth to remain partly filled 
with water, and these can be retained on land 
for many hours and yet live. 

Water in its turn is just as essential as air. 
By its aid food is carried into the body and dis- 
tributed, and it also acts as a regulator of heat. 
If we tend to become too warm, as in the sum- 
mer season, water escapes rapidly from the 
lungs and skin, and by its evaporation keeps 
us cool. That such evaporating processes cause 
a cooling may be proved by an experiment with 
which many of us are acquainted. It is often 








Ihc moons or satellite* of thcae planets; MB 
the rest asteroids, or else, if very small, aero 
The planet* arc, of course, 
ihc IkkHch most likclv t.» prove interesting u 
us and they may ihcrcforv be profitably cuu 
mcratcd. The nearest to the Sun l» Mcrrunr, 
87 millions of mile* distant; next come* Nc 
nus, 68 millions of mile* distant ; then I he 
Earth, !>."» millions of mile*. Outside of us, or 
farther from the Sum. arc M.vr», 142 million* 
of mile* from that luminary; Jupiter. 4Ho null 
ion*; Saturn, WW million*; V ran u*, lt*OU mill- 
ion* ; an»l Neptune. lUnn\ mill 

An idea of the 
ies and their di* 
gained fruin a L 

«>f these ImkI 

Th< Smm y a |M* t « »• *\ la 
Mercury, a i ■ » • ' n • ' . it 1 .. - of SfltH W Mft> 
IVnu*. a |» •, dUntrUr of or 141 7M Ire*. 
7TU / : " . • i ■ • - ■ • fsss, «** al «*t4l 4J0 f*««. 

V If . * Urgs pin'* U«', ! »n rt. f ctf .«tal C4 ff~*. 
JupiUr. kit orajsge. .UiMirr of arbM half a ssUs. 
Sa/Mm, a •mall aucMicr U uftrtt qm t«4 

fifth tullr 

f'ntwisa, a cherry. .IUrwu r i*Wt a sail* ae>t a half. 
.Y<y.r»j«r, a | I i . dlUMtrt / ori4« lroi»li half *ll~ 
TKi ***/*•! tu«i Star. dM«br« tfU+m I 


desired, when in the woods, to ascertain the di- | Around the Sun, • sphere 8HUW0 mile. In 
rectiou from which the wind is Mowing We diameter. tl:ere lev I MM 
may need it as a guide. There may not he some, the more n 
sufficient air stirring to drift away a light ob- 
ject like a straw. Under these circuiustun. I I 
foresters, having wetted the finger, hold it op- BtW QT J 
ward at arms-length. A gentle hrcezc causes 
the moisture to evaporate more rapidly M 0M 
side it first strikes, and the direction i> at 0* I 
indicated by the coldness of that ride. So also 
in the case of the porous earthen-ware \c>m-U 
used in southern climates for keeping water 
cool. The fluid that soaks through the earth- 
en-ware, evaporating from the outside, keep, 
the temperature of the water much U-low that 
of the surrounding air. 

Lastly, as regards food but little require to 
he said." All know from hard experience how 
necessary it is. If we do not eat we soon l*v 
come emaciated and die alter a »h<>rt interval. 
What is the cause of this waiting away, nnil 
why can we not resist it by the will? We 
have already learned that air isc« lial to our 
well-being, because we must have a hunting , 
continually going on in the body. But we 
must also have a fuel t«i burn, and this fuel i» 
cither the food or portion- "t the body that 
have been made out of it. If we do not eat 
and raiDpply the parts that are consumed our 
weight becomes daily less and le«-. is we -. <• 
in wasting fever-, until, when a certain |»oint 
is attained, we die of cold. 

The food we retpiire is produced hv j l.rit-, 
the remark applying even t<» meat, whuh ha* 
been extracted from plants b\ oxen. sh< ; . • l< 
That it is combustible can be proved b\ e.\|>cr- 
iment. A [»iece of meat or bread, if placed in 
the lire, burns away, leaving only a little a*h ; 
the mass of it having united with oxygen and 
disappeared in a gaseous form. The wtiic 
would have happened had it l»eeu eaten, though 
the burning would have been .slower and with- 
out flame. 

It is the combustibility of Mimul int*, Mich 
as whisky and brandy, that renders them \al- 
uablc in low fevers. Nowadays the treatment 
in such cases is to give the patient as much 
liquor as he can bear without becoming intox* 
icated ; it burns away within him to produce 
the animal heat he requires, and so save* him 
to a certain extent from the ctmu iation that 
would be produced by the burning of his body. 
For the healthful performance Of the function* 
of the system a temperature of nearly loo ,1.-- 
grees must be maintained by man ; if he be- 
comes much cooler than this he will die of cold. 
The sensation of cold piercing to the very mar- 
row of the bones, so keenly felt by those as- 
cending high mountains, is due to the atten- 
uated state of the air in such localities; not 
enough can be taken in by the lungs at each 
breath to keep the body burning at a proper 

we can succeed in rendering It pro 
on any of these bodira there I* Hi 
U< led at once to extend the sphe 
•ted nature inrinitclv. For we knot 


of It* 



shining, m our *un dora, by vu 
own light. At distances va»tly jrrr 
these are collection* of *lars, "hie 
they mar iu reality be, *e para led aa far from 
one another a* the nearest Axed star is from 
u*, yet *eem to be closely |>acked together. 
Tlieac, the rrs<i|\ able nebula*, are stellar sra- 
tern* of prodigious extent. Many are not 
bright enough to affect the naked eye; and 
who shall aay what immense number* there 

may be invisible even with the t« I pe t 

We may argue from analogy that all tin — 
suns, many of them larger than our*, are »tir 
rounded by train* of planet*, revolving i 
them ut various distance*. It on any 
planets of our solar system life can lie 
tained, why not on those planet* too? 
does it not seem reasonable to suppose t 
those bodies have l*cen created fur son* 
purpose than merely occasionally to illu 
our skies? I* this little speck in the ui 
where we arc existing, and which i* vi» 
only two or three of its immediate neighbors, 
the onlv seat of life ? 


it all 

We are now ready to glance for a few mo- 
ments at the construction of the solar svsteru. 

Karh of these star* Is a rellfVias 
I saw their slum tmokr, their lncm«* ri #. 
And h*«rd h<*»nu*i rin^' through er«ry 
The trrvat Pn>prieror** all-bntiotnAi* har>d 
I>>aves n ihinu **rt>, tut sow* these fiery field* 
With mx*U of n**m. which to rirtues rise 
B- ocath bis gf uUl rajr." 



But you may say, How do you know that 
those other worlds are not composed of such 
materials that life is there impossible ? Sci- 
ence has within the last few years stretched 
her hand across the almost immeasurable dis- 
tances which separate us from the fixed stars, 
and told us that there are in them many of the 
substances with which we are here familiar. 
It would lead us too far from our subject to 
indicate the manner in which so grand a result 
has been reached. I can only tell you that 
we are able, by examining the light coming 
from the stars by a prism, to detect their com- 
position, just as if we had fragments of them 
in our laboratories. Spectrum analysis has 
made the chemist's arms millions of millions 
of miles long. 

Let us examine our planetary neighbors, and 
ascertain what arc the chances of inhabitation 
upon them. The two planets that are nearer 
to the Sun than the Earth may be dismissed at 
once. The most reliable researches lead as- 
tronomers to suppose that Mercury and Venus 
are too hot to permit of either animal or vege- 
table life. Venus is regarded as being red-hot, 
and Mercury even hotter. If such be the case, 

we must of course presume that they are un- 

The first planet outside of the Earth — Mars 
— is 50 millions of miles more distant from the 
Sun than we are. When it is favorably situ- 
ated its surface can be closely scanned through 
the telescope. It seems to me to be by far 
the most interesting object in the heavens from 
its similarity to the Earth. 

In the summer of 1862, when my large tele- 
scope had been completed, Mars was often ob- 
served, and showed appearances some of which 
are represented in the adjoining cut drawn by 
Professor Phillips. There was visible, in the 
first place, an expanse of water covering a large 
proportion of the Southern hemisphere, and of 
a greenish hue. The remaining parts, at the 
upper portion of the picture, are land of a red- 
dish tinge, assuming the figure of continents. 
In addition — and this is a point of peculiar in- 
terest — at the north and south polar regions 
there are accumulations of snow, presenting ap- 
pearances strictly analagous to those at the 
arctic and antarctic regions of our globe. The 
snow spot at the South Pole is here shown ; 
the North Pole is invisible. 


Let us recall the condition of our Northern 
Hemisphere. In winter snow falls and covers 
it with a white envelope, extending for six 
months, to a latitude certainly as low as the 
northern border of the United States. If the 
earth were viewed from a distance, there would 
seem to be a white spot surrounding the north 
pole. As summer came on this white spot 
would begin to disappear, melting away at its 
southern border, and to the distant observer 
would seem quite insignificant at midsummer. 
Precisely a similar phenomenon is witnessed at 
the poles of Mars, and hence we see that he 
too has seasons similar in their nature to ours, 
Vol. XXXni.— No. 193. — D 


a warm summer and a cold snowy winter. As 
his year is almost equal to two of ours, each 
season is twice as long as with us. 

There is still another point of resemblance. 
On watching the planet Mars carefully through 
a large telescope, we observe that his surface 
is not always the same in appearance, but that 
dark spots occasionally are visible, and cover 
large parts of it. They are variable in extent 
and outline. These are obviously clouds float- 
ing in his atmosphere, the source whence falls 
the winter's snow and, doubtless, though we do 
not see it, the summer's rain. 

There is then another body, revolving as the 



Earth docs around the Sun, as tar as we can the dark ipoU WW) called Mas, th« 
nidge suited to the abode of sentient being*, land. But wo DM know that ftp 
ItliL air, water, alternations of seasons, snow, large collection oi WltM 00 tn. 

Moon that is turned toward us. 
expression, "the side turned 

Win i- that 

rain, and, possibly, vegetation. It is, to bfl 
sure, half as far again as we arc from the Sun, 

the source of light and heat, but is not cold We only see one A 

enough to be perpetually frozen and therefore Iff perjrtua//; tnnu-d «o<m/ from us. 

A telescoi* ot even moderate p« 

The question at once arises, do you discover 
upon its surface any traces of the works of man, 

are there tokens of great cities and visible lines and mueh broken. 1 he northern 

of road? As our telescopes arc at present, wo rugged thnn the southern, ami we soe that 

are too far off to see any of these things, even so-c- 1 

if they are there. No power yet applied would mih 

A telescope of men moderate power shows 
at once, particularly if the Moon Ik? only six or 
eight ••day old, "that her surface is ven'rugged 
The northern pur 

seas an 

OM. T 

enable us to distinguish at this distance an oh- sea< formerly were, hut they now contain 

water. Nor do we find on any part ot the vis- 
ible side tokens* of either nir or water. Kccall- 

ou it. 

ject oO miles square. What we may do in the 
future it is, of course, impossible to predict 
One of the greatest obstacles to distinct vision 
is our own atmosphere. Its etUTenti and mo- 
tions tend to confuse the outlines of objects, 
and, according to my experience, a whole year 
may pass without the occurrence <>f more than 
one good night. The only remedy i« to cur. 
the telescope as high up on a mountain as pos- I That Bnk 
siblc, so as to leave below the more injurious position « 
portions of the atmosphere. It mi^ht he po.- eruption* 
sible to work ir),(KK) feet above the sea in the 
neighborhood of the equator. 

In the list of planets given, four lurj 
were placed outside of Mars, that is, farther from 
the Sun. lint with these we have not time to 
deal. The only remark necessary to be made 
is, that on two of them, Jupiter and Saturn, 
there is reason to believe both air and water 

But you will say why is the Moon overlooked 
all this time? She is close to the Earth, and 
must possess similar conditions as to light and 
heat; arc not the probabilities strong that .-he 
is inhabited? 

A few years ago there was published in the 
daily papers of this city a description of pre- 
tended discoveries in the Moon which excited 
at the time a great deal of attention. It was 
stated that Sir John llersehel bad taken t i I 
Cape of Good Hope a lens of L'l feet diami 
and with it had seen a variety of objects, ani- 
mals, buildings, and even a species of men. 
The human beings were described as having 
wings like'a bat, but nevertheless they evident- 
ly conversed and were familiar with polite ac- 
tions, such as peeling fruit for one another. 
This, ''the Moon Hoax" as it is termed, im- 
posed on very many persons, and when it-; 
falsity was discovered, left behind an unfortu- 
nate skepticism as to statements that are really 

Let us examine the actual state of the Moon, 
and see what the probabilities of habitation are. 
We will ascertain the more prominent peculiar- 
ities, and then I will show you some of them by 
the aid of a photograph enlarged by Starr's cal- 
cium light and lens. 

On looking at the Moon with the naked eye 
certain markings are visible, dark and white 
spots. Before the invention of the telescope 

ing the fact that no animal or plant can livo 
without these essential materials are con- 
vinced at once that there is no use in wan lung 
for inhabitants there. 

Hut there are strong reasons for believing 
that water must exist somewhere on the Moon. 

Tho face i 
1 of abrupt ro, 
ion has l>cen 

iu |Mmt 

We are sure that the water ?.< not floating 
alnjut in tho shape of dense clouds, for wo 

now and then make their ap|«ear 
however, it ha* bOM deinonstrni 
ieally, that the side nearest to us 
from the Moon's centre of gravit) 
distant side. It is, so to s|»eak, 
this face to that, tho amount of 

should not see them here, 
habitants there, hut our eha 

There inav be in- 
rc* of maki'nif their 

time projtoscd by some enthush 
mcrs to communicate with the i 
the Moon bv erecting on one of th 

angle the square of the hypothenusc is equal 
to the sum of the squares of the other two 
I sides.'' It was hoj>cd that if there were intel- 
ligent inhabitants on the Moon who had dis- 
covered the truths of geometry they would an- 
swer by marking out on one of their plains some 
other problem in rcsjH»nsc. 

We sec from our physiological investigation 
of the subject how futile such an attempt would 
have been. The inhabitants on the tar side of 
the Moon, if there arc any such, never sec the 
Earth unless it may be low down in the horizon 
and dimly. If they existed on the centre of 
this side, they would sec her as a glorious 
globe, fourteen times as large a> the M. on 
seems to us, shining with a pure light, variega- 
ted with clouds, and revolving like a gigantic 



clock directly overhead. Now Europe, Asia, 
and Africa would be visible ; in a few hours 
they would set, and North and South America, 
in their turn, come into view. They would 
have no need of watches. Our large cities 
would be visible through a telescope, a spot 
500 feet square being distinctly perceptible. 
But it is of no use to speculate on the appear- 
ance of things that are not seen. 

So far from perceiving any visible traces of 
human habitation on the Moon through our tel- 
escopes, she presents to the eye only a desolate 
sterile waste. There are no tokens of activ- 
ity. Even her volcanoes are extinct. We are 
able to determine now with precision their un- 
changed condition by the aid of photographs 
taken from time to time. They show no change 
though an interval of years may have elapsed. 
It is true, nevertheless, that minute changes 
may be occurring, for the difficulties of obtain- 
ing first-class photographs are so great that 
slight eruptions might be overlooked.* 

The taking of a photograph of the Moon may 
be compared to getting the likeness of a man 
who is rapidly walking. We can not fasten her 
with a clamp as they do one's head at a photog- 
rapher's establishment, it is- necessary to neu- 
tralize the motion by another precisely similar. 
This fortunately we can accomplish by fine 
clock-work so contrived as to make the telescope 
by which the photograph is taken point stead- 
ily at the same part. Bat there is another mo- 
tion we can not neutralize, arising from the 
tremors of our air. Any one who has looked 
across the top of a hot stove at objects beyond 
will have perceived that their outlines are con- 
fused, and that they seem to tremble or vibrate 
rapidly. Precisely such movements are taking 
place in the air above us, and these cause the 
mountains on the moon to twinkle like a star. 
During two years, in which I took photographs 
of the Moon every night that she shone, only 
three good nights occurred, and even on these 
there was some vibrating motion. Professor 
Bond, of the Cambridge Observatory, said that 
he had never in his lifetime seen a perfectly 
faultless night. If, then, it were desired to con- 
vey to you by our former simile of a man walk- 
ing the difficulties of Moon photography, it 
would be necessary to superadd that the man 
was afflicted with St. Vitus's dance. 

Besides all these obstacles others must be 
specified. A telescope of very large size is 
necessary in order that photographs may be* 
procured with rapidity, and such an instrument 
is difficult to obtain. It must be either bought 
or made by the observer. In the latter case 
the time consumed in perfecting the lenses or 
mirrors is very great. I spent six years on my 
instrument, but had then the satisfaction of 
knowing that it was thoroughly adapted to its 
purpose. It has^a mirror 15i inches in di- 
ameter, and a tube 12i feet long, and is mount- 
ed at Hastings on Hudson, 20 miles north of 

* A fac-simile of Dr. Draper's photograph of the Moon 
was published in Harper's Weekly for March 19, 1S64. 

this city. The reason that so large an instru- 
ment is demanded — ; for this is the largest re- 
flector in use in America — is, that a great 
amount of light must be collected to get a 
photograph of such a size that it will bear mag- 
nifying, and yet can be taken quickly. The 
problem is just the same as in portrait photog- 
raphy — the larger the lens the more quickly can 
a picture of a given size be taken. It was ig- 
norance of this fact that led Daguerre, who in- 
vented the daguerreotype process, to declare 
that human portraits could not be taken photo- 
graphically. According to his ideas, and with 
his apparatus, it was necessary to sit more than 
two hours, and that requires more patience or 
stolidity than most of us have. My father, 
however, overturned this idea, and in 1839 suc- 
ceeded in the University of this city in getting 
the first portrait from life. One of the earliest 
is still in existence in the possession of Sir 
John Herschel, who states that it is as good as 
when first made. 

In the enlarged photographic view which you 
are going to see upon the screen there are many 
points to which } r our attention might be directed. 
Of these we shall select only a few, as a full ex- 
planation of all would demand too much time.* 

You will perceive, in the first place, that the 
whole circular face of the Moon is not present- 
ed to you ; only one semicircle is visible. The 
photograph is taken from the Moon in her third 
quarter, when she was 21 days old, because at 
that time it better exhibits the more striking 
peculiarities than when full. You will remark 
that the semicircle is diversified with light and 
shadow : some parts are dark and others light. 
The interpretation that is put on this variation 
is, that the Moon, like the Earth, is composed 
of rocks of many different tints ; that the large 
spaces I now indicate, and which used to be 
called seas, are made up of a darker rock than 
the volcanic southern regions. At the tip of 
the rod, the volcano Copernicus has ejected a 
lava whiter than the plains over which it has 
flowed. Observe how far the stream running 
north has gone ; let me give you a scale of 
miles : this picture is 12 feet in diameter ; it 
shows the Moon as she would appear to us if 
we were 1G6 miles from her, instead of 210,000, 
as we now are. Every foot length in the pic- 
ture is about 180 miles. You will see that the 
lava stream running north has gone not less 
than 600 or 800 miles. 

I have said that this lava is running across a 
plain. Why do we not call it by the old name, 
a sea — the Sea of Showers ? If you will look 
closely and reason a little, the cause will be ap- 
parent enough. If this dark spot were a sheet 
of water it would present a uniform grayish or 
greenish tint. But we see it diversified with 
mottlings of light and shade, bright points and 
streaks of white lava. It must be land. 

* Here was exhibited an enlarged view of a photograph 
of the Moon. The picture was about 12 feet in diameter; 
the light and shade, craters, mountains, etc., were shown 
beautifully defined. 



In the next place, we will examine the Straight 
or nigged side of the picture. On casting the 
eye along this part it will at once be noticed 
that it is irregular and seems to be thickly dot- 
ted with depressions of a saucer shape. It ifl 
sometimes said that the Moon looks U if she 
had suffered from an attack of small -pox. 
What is the nature of these mark- ! 

Let me observe that there arc not on the 
Moon a large number of mountain-, truly speak- 
ing — that is, ranges of projecting peak-. The 
best example of them is this range, the 11 Lu- 
nar Apennines;" they are perhaps !'»«» miles 
long at this part, and l. r >,000 feet high. 

You may ask how we know that oik- spot i- 
a mountain, another a crater. It is by observ- 
ing the direction in which the shadows are cast. 
The Moon does not shine by her own light, 
but is seen by light falling on her (ton Be 
Sun and reflected to us. The Earth i- jn-t a> 
bright to her as she is to us. When the Moon 

is at half, as she is represented in thfi photo- 
graph, the light f ill- obliquely on the part w .• 
have called the rugged edge, jw-t as at satirise 
on the Earth. Every object that projc< I 
bright on the side toward the light, and in 
shadow on the opposite side, while every c\< | 
vation or j)it is in just the rev« r-e condition — 
bright on the side from the Sun. and dark on 
the side toward him. Beefing this in mind, 
let us investigate some of these - j •• -j in Ihi 
Moon. The Sun is away toward the 1* it head ; 
in the Apennines the bright side i^ toward the 
left, and the dark toward the right. They arc 
therefore, according to our rule, projections. 
But in this crater the dark -i le i- toward the 
left, and the bright toward the right. it must 
be a pit. 

In this crater, named after Ari-tillus, yon 
will observe a peculiarity common to manv of 
the craters. It has in the centre a small bright 
dot, resulting from light falling on a conical 
mountain. This game central cono is seen in 
certain volcanic mountains on tin* Earth, as in 
Vesuvius for example. Any one who has 
ascended it will remember that the COM which 
now emits lava occasionally is surrounded at 
a distance by an old crater. ju<t as if in the 
centre of a saucer a small pile of -and should 

be placed ; the latter would represent the oone, 
while the rim of the saucer would be the wall 
of the crater. Here I point out another named 
after Eratosthenes ; here another, etc 

The various craters in the Moon have been 
named after distinguished men ; this one, for 
instance, is Copernicus, who revived the doc- 
trine that the Sun is the centre of the Solar 
System ; this after Kepler, the discoverer of 
three great astronomical laws ; this after Tytsho 
Brahe, the Dane ; this after Plato, etc. The 
dark parts are named from imaginary qualities 
they were supposed to possess ; this is the Sea 
of Showers, or Mare Imbrium ; this the Oce- 
anus Procellarum, or Ocean of Storms; this 
the Sea of Vapors. 

Along the extreme edge of the Moon many 

points are seen apparently altogether discon- 
nected from her. These are the tips of mount- 
ains, or the rims of craters, on which the sun- 
light is falling while it does not reach their 
bases, (mi the Earth the Sun in rising illu- 
minates first the ] eaks of mountains, and then 
the light gradually creeps down their sides un- 
til they are all lightened tip. So it i- in the 
Moon. If the photograph had been taken a 
little while later than it was tunny of these 
bright points on the edge would hove disap- 
pear.-. 1. because this is a photograph of the 
waning Moon : they were depicted just as the 
Sun was setting on them. 

Why is it that the parts on the left hand of 
the picture arc of so uniform n brightness, and 
do not show craters nnd |»cuk* too? It is be- 
cause the light is there falling pcr|K'ndicularly 
on the surface and illuminating nil parts uni- 
formly. If n person wore suspended in n bal- 
loon over the Earth, nnd the .Sun were ovor- 
head, he would find difficulty in distinguishing 
n mountain from the vallevs around if similar- 
Ir Composed. Hut in the morning, when the 
Sun's rays strike the surface obliquely nnd the 
mountains cast n shadow, there would 1h» no 
difficult v. The part of the Moon on the ex- 
treme left is here *ocn nt mid day, so to speak, 
that at the nigged edge at evening.* 

And now what is to lie said on the subject 
of riurnlitv of World* is al»out finished. We 
have taken n glance nt the celestial hodtca, and 
shown that on one of them, a near neighbor. 
Mars, the conditions exist necessary to ntii- 

offer you |M>*itivc proofs, but hnre indicated 
how strong the probabilities nrc of inhabitation. 
In all such investigations it is necessary to Ik* 
very careful in draw ing conclusions from what 
we may see. The senses alone often deceive 
us, nnd results derived from them must bo cor- 

more striking than those in connection with 
the IhkIv whose description has occupied so 
much of this creuing. 

It is generally supposed that the rays pro- 
ceeding from the Moon are mi cold as to pro- 
duce refrigeration in bodies « \| 1 to them. 

This jtrojierty has been a favorite subject of 
comparison with |>oots, as a thousand quota- 
tion, com-eming her cold, pale light would 
prove. In the old m\ tl.ologv the bo k of warmth 
of Diana was tvpitied bv this bodv. lint what 

• In the cut on page 4(1 a part of tlic rugg«-<l sdfi «.f Mm 
Moon h shown. The drawing I" from Professor NicholV 
Cyclopedia. The reader will observe the long shadow* 
ca.-«t by the m-mutaiu p*ak<i and edges of craters. In the 
other cut, page 47, which U from a drawing by the rn.ii.- "t 
engineer James Nasmyth, a more full illumination of the 
surface is exhibited. It give? an admirable idea of the 
broken, volcanic nature of the surface of our satellite, and 
suggests at once the sterility nnd uninhabitabiiity of neb 
a place. Bat excellent a* these drawing" are they can a -ii- 
vey but a faint idea of the beauty of the M'<on a* a t< h- 
sc-.pic object. The photograph, enlarged by the calcium 
light, lias more nearly the general effect. 



are the facts in the case ? The Moon reflects 
to us a certain proportion of heat from the 
Sun, and by thermometers sufficiently delicate 
the amount may be measured. An ordinary 
mercurial thermometer fails entirely to show 
any rise, though the moonbeams be concentra- 
ted by ever so large a lens. But if two wires, 
one of bismuth and the other of antimony, be 
soldered together at the ends, an exceedingly 
slight warming at the junction will cause an 
electrical current to be developed. By ap- 
propriate contrivances we are able to measure 
the strength of the current, and as it bears a 
relation to the amount of heat employed, thus 
measure that heat. A number of pairs of such 
metals soldered together is called a thermo- 
electric pile. By the thermo-electric pile ^ViJ 
of a degree may be indicated. The moon- 
beams warm us to about this extent. To be 
sure the amount is not great, but it is sufficient 
to overturn the idea of her cooling agency. 

In another instance a deception of the eye 
is shown. When the moon is rising it is gen- 
erally conceded that she is much larger than 
when near the zenith. She seems as large as 
a cart-wheel, while overhead the diameter is 
not greater than a plate. Any one who doubts 
this doubts the evidence of the senses. And 
yet measured with the telescope the size is seen 
to be the same on each occasion. Does not 
such a fact shake our confidence in the eye? 

A still more common deception which as- 
tronomers have to combat is that connected 
with the apparent size of the Moon. When it 
was stated a moment ago that overhead she 
seems as large as a plate, no dissent was ex- 
pressed, because almost every one feels con- 
vinced that such is the fact from repeated ob- 
servation. But yet by two simple experiments 
our faith in that can be altogether broken. 
Many times the inquiry is made in my observa- 
tory, "How large do you take your photo- 
graphs of the Moon in the telescope?" On 
returning the answer that they are magnified 
15 times by the instrument, and then showing 
a specimen about an inch and a half in diame- 
ter, persons either say, ' ' This is smaller than 
the Moon," or else express their disbelief in a 
yet more marked manner by a silent dissent. 
The size of the Moon as seen by the naked eye 
is about that of a pepper-corn. Now that I 
know this to be the case she has lost her for- 
mer magnitude to my eyes. In order to con- 
vince persons it is only needful to cause them 
to hold up such a photograph (about as large as 
a half dollar) at the distance of distinct vision, 
10 inches, and then look at the Moon through 
it. At once her size dwindles away ; we have 
established a standard of comparison, and see 
how great the deception was. 

In another way any one who has a spy-glass 
mounted on a stand can convince himself of the 
same thing. If the instrument magnify only 6 
or 8 times, on looking through it at the Moon, 
she seems to be smaller than to the naked eye, 
possibly not larger than a penny. But if while 

one eye is still kept at the eye-piece of the 
telescope the other be opened, two moons are 
seen, a small one not as large as a pea, and an- 
other 6 or 8 times as great. By shutting first 
one eye and then the other, it can be shown 
that the small one is that seen by the naked 
eye. After repeating such an experiment sev- 
eral times the effect is permanent, the Moon 
looks always small, but if only once performed 
on going away from the telescope we again de- 
lude ourselves. 

In producing this photograph on the table, 
21 inches in diameter, a magnifying power of 
about 200 has been used, and yet it seems no 
larger than half the rising Moon. But why is 
it then, if the size is the same in both cases, 
that we do not see with the naked eye the cra- 
ters and cones and other parts as we see them 
here. No one is apt to amuse himself with 
imagining the face of a man in the Moon de- 
picted on this paper; his attention is too much 
occupied with a multiplicity of details far more 
interesting. Not much reasoning is required 
to satisfy the mind that the greater distinct- 
ness of parts must arise from the fact that the 
photograph is a magnified representation. 

The Moon varies in her distance from the 
Earth considerably at different times. She 
should seem, therefore, on some occasions, much 
greater in size to us than on others. And yet 
who remarks the change in apparent diameter. 
A series of photographs taken on various occa- 
sions vary in size* very materially, and bring 
this fact before us in a forcible manner. Yet 
the eye commits in this case a sin of omission. 

In yet another instance the unreliability of 
the senses is shown when not corrected by rea- 
son. We see the Moon and Stars before they 
have risen and after they have set. We never 
see them in their true positions, except in the 
rare case when they are directly overhead. 
The refractive action of the air lifts them out 
of their places, and astronomers in measuring 
the position of celestial bodies have to make a 
correction for this disturbance. It is generally 
supposed that we see in a straight line, but in 
looking at these bodies the light has reached 
the eye through a curved path. 

In reasoning then on such a subject as that 
which has occupied us this evening, we are ad- 
monished not to let our senses and imagina- 
tion carry us away. Do not speculate on the 
nature of beings on other spheres as some have 
done, and attribute to them a variety of quali- 
ties corresponding to their supposed surround- 
ings. Do not, with Fontenelle, give to the in- 
habitants of the hot planets, Mercury and Ve- 
nus, characteristics in an exaggerated degree 
like those possessed by the inhabitants of our 
warm climates, doubting not that Venus is the 
seat of an empire where ardent affection rules, 
while in Mercury the vivacity of the inhabitants 
is so great that it is the Insane Asylum of the 
Universe; from the coldness of Jupiter and 
Saturn imagining that they are peopled with 
phlegmatic and slow-moving inhabitants. Do 



not propose for comets the function of penal 
settlements for the planets, their wretched in- 
habitants being whirled, for sins committed, 
through fierce extremes of heat, now Approxi- 
mating the sun and made two thousand time- 
as hot as molten iron, now traversing space 
100° below zero. 

A calm consideration of the facts collect i d 
on this subject, after due weight has been given 
to the able arguments advanced on either nde, 
would seem to lead to the following conclu- 
sions: First, we have reason to know that t In- 
various bodies of the solar system have a com- 
position resembling one another; on the Sun. 
th« most unlikely of all, many of the clement- 
of the Earth are found, iron, sodium, etc Xhii 
remark may be extended to the fixed Star-. 

Second, we feel satisfied that the same laws 
which rule the solar system rule the Universe; 
in the case of the law of gravity a demonstra- 
tion can be easily offered, the binary Stars re 
volving around their common centre of gravit\ 
according to it. 

Third, we may be sure that Nature, o|»cra- 
ting upon like substances In similar laws, will 
ever produce the same result-. Tin re is a 
unity of scheme pervading the universe, tin 
are immortal types or exemplars, the Divine 
Ideas, according to which things arc framed 
with an infinite variety of modith ations, ,1, 
pending on the surrounding pin siral conditions. 

I can not believe that on our little globe alone, 
among the infinity of worlds, lite has been pos- 
sible, because only on it surrounding circum- 
stances have been favorable It neems more 
in accordance with reason to believe that there 
may be on many other globe* intelligent beings, 
formed on the same plan a> \\r are, but differ- 
ing, on some perhaps for the better, on others 
for the worse. ( >n our own globe we see what 
an influence such conditions ns> heat, moisture, 
etc., have on the inhabitants of the various 
zones. At the poles, where man struggle* with 
difficulty to procure A precarious livelihood, in- 
tclle< t i s at .'. low i 1 b, tin ! » \':au*ts itself in 
efforts to obtain food ; at the equator, amidst 
the bounteous provision on e\erv hand, mind 
and body arc oppressed bv a languor that seems 
only broken by the pensions. In the temperate 
zone, our own happy latitude, the seasons con- 
duce to activity ; but thoughts of suhoistenco 
need not occupy nil the time, enough can be 
spared to originate the most sublime ideas in 
science and the art*. It must lie thus in (be 
universe : though the general plan is the same 
throughout, there may lie worlds that have 
never passed the state in which the earth wu« 

in earlv ireoloeicnl lime* while mi nthnra iwin 

spiring cimim«tancc* may ha\e allowed life to 
develop oven beyond our standard, and to reach 
a point that wo may ho|»c in tho fuluro to at- 


TIIF.HK is a wrinkled old man 
With thin and sih.-rv hair. 
A loan and withered old man, 

And bis name. I know, is ( are. 
He sits by my bed through the night. 

He walks at my side in tin- -tr. . t. 
In the broad and open light. 

Unseen of the people I m 

His cheeks are hollow with ago; 

His eyes are sunken and dim ; 
The high and the lowly of earth 

Alike are acquainted with him. 
Only the child has not known. 

Since its infant life began— 
Like, a blossom newly hlown— 

The face of this wrinkled old man. 

When Youth's bright summer i- past, 

And the dreams that we dreamed are tied; 
When doubts, like a cloud, arise 

And the hopes we cherished are dead; 
When the castles that we reared 

Have vanished at last in air, 
Where their portals once appeared 

Sits this withered old man called Care. 

He stands by the mother who kneels 

At the bedside of her child. 
As she cools the fevered brow 

And the lips that so sweetlv Bmfled; 
And across her sad, pale face/ 

Uplifted a moment in praver. 
A likeness to him you mav trace 

Imprinted indelibly there. 


Unseen he raise* the latch. 

And creep* pant the crn/v door, 
l"p the narrow flight of stairs 

To the garret of the poor- 
Ami there by the drearv hearth 

He sin at the close of dav, 
Where |. heard no sound of' mirth. 

And where thine* no cheering rav. 

lie inters the mansions of wealth, 

The palace* stalely and grand. 
And all uninvited he take* 

His place at the master's ri^ht hand — 
He heeds not the tune at it Hit*. 

He counts not the moments that \ui**, 
Hut silent and thoughtful he ail*. 

And drinks from the master's own gln*s. 

Though aged he never has known 

South'* prunuM- or manhood's prime, 
Lut thi* lean and withered old man 

Will live to th<- end «f time. 
He w ill enter, and t\* ak not a wonl. 

The lofty ami wide palace door, 
And climb the weak staircase unheard 

To the dreary nljode of the poor. 

There is but one house that I know 

Where this wrinkled old man can not come. 
In the quiet and gloom of the grave 

He shall find neither rest nor a home. 
In that narrow house under ground 

All unheeded the years shall go by, 
As folded in slumber profound. 

Undisturbed by his presence we lie. 



THE triumphal Easter anthem filled the 
church, and seemed to drift through arch 
and architrave up to the very throne of God. 
The very building, with its cold, gray-stonewalls, 
thrilled and pulsated with tuneful sound, and 
upon that joy-tide many a desolate soul floated 
upward nearer to heaven than ever before. Mrs. 
Thorne leaned back wearily in her pew, as if the 
strain uttered nothing that could reach her heart : 
" Christ the Lord has risen to-day !" She spec- 
ulated vaguely about it, as she did about most 
things : it did not touch her — it was a dim and 
distant thing, like a story in Grecian History. 
And there was a fierce struggle in her innermost 
heart, a strange purpose with which she was 
wrestling, a horrible, haunting idea that rose 
again and again, like a vexed ghost, and would 
not be laid, which shut her eyes to the heavenly 
vision and her ears to celestial harmonies. The 
Easter flowers filled the font, and made a sum- 
mer atmosphere of bloom and fragrance. Lilies, 
waxen white, yet with a sun-tinge in them ; 
large golden-dusted cymes of laburnums, with 
feathery moss dewy and glistening ; fragrant 
pale-blue mignonnette that sent a breath of balm 
through the aisles like incense ; and some rose- 
colored blooms warming the whole. Mrs. Thorne 
had an appreciation for the lovely coloring of 
these, for she had an artist's eye. She had 
earned her bread by painting once, and had been 
"good at her art for a woman" they said. For 
five years she had not touched pencil or brush, 
for it was just five years to-day since she had 
married John Thorne, M.D. 

At last the service was over, the last words 
died away on the air — a hushed stillness, and 
then a subdued rustling showed that the people 
were going. Mrs. Thorne sat still as one in a 
dream. She had come in expecting something, 
some hope or comfort perhaps, which she had 
not received. Was there no blessing there for 
her? Other people brought their burdens there 
and found them roll away as Christian's did at 
the foot of the cross. Why did such an idle fic- 
tion haunt her ? Christ, if there was a Christ, 
sat afar off, beyond the sunsets, and the cries 
and groans of the desolate never pierced that vast 
expanse of ether. She got up .drearily then, for 
the young minister stood waiting in the chancel, 
and went forward. She would take something 
with her, if only a flower — something sweet and 
fresh and natural, that might whisper. Hush ! 
that thought again. 

How kind and mild he looked ! Perhaps he 
could minister to a mind diseased. Perhaps 
there was some good in the old Romish confes- 
sional after all. But this was a Protestant 
church. Margaret Thorne smiled grimly as she 
imagined how those mild blue eyes would dilate 
with surprise if she threw herself passionately at 
his feet and poured out all her thoughts, her 
wild regrets, her half-formed purposes, her skep- 
tical doubts. Instead of this the minister only 
saw a stately-looking lady with rather eager, 


dark hazel eyes, who lingered at the font and 
asked for a flower. And he smiled politely as 
he offered her a cluster of dazzling lilies, glit- 
tering like sunlight on snow. 

Mrs. Thorne did not go home. She turned 
instead out of the close, compact little town, 
and walked with tireless feet on and on, till the 
pavements came to an end, and straggling lanes, 
beginning to have a tender greenness hovering 
over them, lay before her. The distant hills 
shone yellowish gray or dimmed away into sil- 
ver. The trees, with their delicate tracery of 
boughs against the blue sky, held each their store 
of different-colored buds half unfolded ; the rock 
maples, with their salmon-colored leaves ; white 
and red oaks and the birches spreading out a 
pale-green mist before a grove of sombre pines. 

Clusters of white dog-wood starred the woods, 
and pink columbines festooned the trees. Care- 
less of the wet, Mrs. Thorne penetrated through 
the damp, sedgy ground to a stream that ran 
in the distance, treading on fairy-like mosses 
with slender, scarlet-tipped stems, some holding 
tiny brown cups like acorns, or gay dots of crim- 
son flowers. All was clothed in the beautiful 
verdure of spring. Then the birds ! a whole 
summer of joy and sunshine lay before them, 
and they kept high carnival. Margaret Thorne 
sat down on a bit of gray rock and watched a gold- 
finch rocking itself in the thin, sunny branches 
of a white birch that pulsated in the wind. She 
half rocked herself also, and murmured some 
lines that had echoed through her heart the 
whole morning : 

"Wild, wild wind, wilt thou never cease thy sighing? 

Dark, dark night, wilt thou never pass away? 
Cold, cold, heart, in thy death sleep lying, 

Thy Lent is past, thy Passion, but not thine Easter 

And so she sat through all the long April after- 
noon, shivering and drawing now and then the 
soft Cashmere shawl about her ; but letting the 
folds of her violet silk trail carelessly on the 
gray mosses and dead leaves. Reader! you 
have heard long ago of the fierce battle fought 
between Christian and Apollyon, in that strange, 
quaint old legend of Bunyan. Ah ! we all know 
there are unseen contests which no papers chron- 
icle, and where no bulletins are sent from the 
seat of war; but the pen of the Recording Angel 
writes the record and a tear drops when the ban- 
ners are trailed in the dust. Well, Margaret 
Thorne fought her battle with Apollyon that 
afternoon, and lost ! 

When the slant sunbeams lay on the ground 
penetrating the long shadows of the trees she 
rose to go. She was weary with the contest ; 
but calm — calm as if her heart, like her hopes, 
had died within her — "and she pitied her own 
•heart, as if she held it in her hand." 

The lights were beginning to stir the town 
as she reached it, like friendly eyes to greet 
her ; but she hurried blindly on with shudder- 
ing chills to the prim red brick house that was 
her home. "Dr. Thorne" decorated the brass 
plate on the door, and the light of a street-lamp 



emblazoned it finely for the suffering public this 
night. In the little office at the side, from 
whose window ruddy beams streamed out, the 
Doctor was still at work with a bullet-headed 
boy putting up prescriptions or concocting some 
patent medicine. Faugh ! Margaret thought 
she could smell the fumes already. How .-lie 
hated it all! Was this life ? Was this all ? 
Was this dull round of days of petty cares— this 
dreary sameness — the prim order — the strict 
drill "rules— all she was made for! Hid she 
not crossed the threshold with other dreams 
live years ago ? 

She looked at Dr. Thome again with a tin k- 
ering gleam of the old feeling, half gratitude, 
half love, which had made the prim hous 
pleasant in those old days to the |*>or girl who 
had been left without friends or home. Hut she 
fiercely turned upon herself for the HafBfiDf 
tenderness. It would not do now — MM wb&t 
her purpose was formed, the lint pasocd. She 
had believed that foolish feeling bad burned it- 
self out long ago to dead gray ashes; could it 
be there was life in it yet ? He OIBW to the 
window and looked out. A small limn, with 
sandy hair ami rather a *1 -1 1< it .- i i • • .1 \': ; 
quiet and serious face you would cull it — somc- 
what lacking as to coloring or BloMHtJ I I " - \- 
pression — set — cold, it may bfe Large light- 
gray eyes without much speculation in them, 
and a good linn mouth. A man of rule* — \>n\ 
could almost see that at a glance — end already 
taking out his watch and looking impatiently 
at the hour. "So he would do if I were dead ! 
said Margaret, fiercely, as she o|<cued the dOQf 

softly and ran up ptairij ramaiiibering for the 

first time that she had been nwav from her <. : 
all day. 

Poor little Dot ! — she had some other ancient 
and Puritanical name after John"* mother — so 
Margaret always called her Dot, and n , 
that she stretched out her little fit hands at the 
name, and never noticed Aunt If tty\ -oundin^' 
reiteration of her proper one. Poor little thing '. 
with her peach-tinted cheeks and flossy, golden 
rings of hair. Had Margaret thought of her — 
weighed things truly lor her in the matter? 
She only bent down over the crib and kissed 
the pinky cheek, saying over and over again, in 
an unreasoning, passionate way. " She is mine 
— she is mine!" And she put the lilies down 
by her own pure little lily. Then she began 
hurriedly to dress for dinner. She shivere ! 
still, though a fever was in her veins and burned 
on cheek and lip. She wondered bitterly what 
sent the strange, glittering light to her eyes 
when all within was so dark. Then she went 
down into the dining-room, where John stood 
ready, knife in hand, to carve the roast, and 
Aunt Hetty gave a deprecating hem ! as she 
entered, while the bullet-headed boy regarded the 
meat with watery eyes, and sniffed continually. 

" Sakes alive, Margaret!" commenced Aunt 
Hetty, '-where on airth have you bin? The 
child took on awful, an at last cried herself to 

"She had her nurse, I suppose," said Mar- 
garet, coldly. 

" lint, my dear, you look rather Hushed," s dJ 
Dr. Thorne. He never interfered with his wife's 
movements as long as she transgressed no rules. 
" I think a little |*>wder — " 

"Nothing, thank you — I >hall do very well," 
answered Mr-. Thorne. U a ginuing to eat to oxer- 
come the faiutuess which idie began to feel in 
every limb. 

It was a relief when they begun to talk of 
a Sanitary Fair which was to bo held in Phila- 
delphia in June. 11 Would you liko logo, Mar* 
garet? I m pretty busy; but Id take the time 
to give you pleasure." 

44 It would give mo no pleasure," she replied, 

The li^ht-gray eyes grew colder than l«cfore. 
44 If I knew what yon would like," he said, 
drearily. *' I hear it will be worth seeing— line 
picture*. You must owu to liking pictures, 
Margaret ?" 

44 1 holier© I did cart? for them once !** 

44 And wot 
fairs, and cur 
an arctic son 
in icy fetters | 
where the sir 
seen," rontin 

of the tropics tuny l*j 

tell ! 

I our i 


less nio!" interrupted Aunt Hetty; 
Who's coin to contnhhit them sir s 


If how far it Iny within her to 
■n»i«c. Tho diniuif-rooni was 

The chairs were covered with brown 

ow ner. 

seemed ready 
mixed car|«t 
g odor, made 

If sh<- r .tild 

to give you the i 
and curtains, and • r 
the place hateful to Margaret, 
have hail 4 'carte blanche in those first pleas* 
ant days &ho would have made a bright, cheer- 
ful place of it," she said ; but she could not have 
(arte blanehe. John could not afford it, bo 
had told her, but she had only half believed 
hirn : and that was the first cloud. Shi found 
afterward that he loved old things end dreaded 
innovation. The house had been bit father's, 
and his mother had died there. He would 
have nothing changed. He was a quiet con- 
servative in every tfnng. Margaret wiis a red- 
hot radical. She asked too much, perhaps, and 
he yielded too little. 

So, long before the honey-moon was over the 
honey was all gone, and nothing left but the 
jars. So it came to pass that these two j>co- 
ple, bound together by eternal tics, sitting at 
one table, breaking the daily bread of life to- 
gether—one by the usages of the world aud the 


sanctities of religion — with the daily courtesies, 
and perhaps endearments, of life on their lips, 
were as utterly apart as if a broad continent, 
with its reaches of land, and wooded slopes, and 
belts of forest, lay between them. So it came 
that this woman — Margaret Thorn e — with her 
passionate, enthusiastic nature, struggling with 
her undisciplined heart so long, had fought her 
last battle in the fresh green woods that after- 
noon, asking no aid from God or man, looking 
only on nature and not to nature's God — had 
so fought, and lost! For she meant to leave 
home and husband this night. 

Yes, she would go. She could live her life 
better alone — freer, more untrammeled — a true 
and beautiful life. For she would give herself 
to art. She had earned her bread in that way 
once, and could do more now, with dear little 
Dot to nerve her to steady effort. After all, it 
was a glorious future — lonely, perhaps ; so much 
the better, art reigned best alone : no divided 
throne for divine art. She would go to Ger- 
many — to Munich it might be — and study hard. 
She and Dot could live on so little there ; and 
it would be sweet to leave all old scenes behind 
— better far that the broad ocean should roll 
between her and her old home and John. Safer 
too; for surely in any spot or nook of the United 
States John would find her out. "He would 
want Dot at least," she said, bitterly. 

So she hurried about while Dot still slept, 
putting up her most precious things. She 
could not take much, you see — no traveling 
trunks loaded with treasures — only jewels that 
might be sold, and what clothes she could take 
in her hand, and some money. Her head 
ached madly ; a whirling and noisy din seemed 
to fill the silent room. Oh, but for one quiet, 
painless moment for her to think of what she 
should need ! Not John's picture certainly, 
though it seemed to come under her hands ev- 
ery where, as if bewitched. Ah well ! perhaps 
for Dot. She might like to see one day what 
her father was like. He was loving enough to 
her, poor little Dot ! There are tears in Mar- 
garet's eyes, but she dashes them away and says 
they are for little Dot. 

What was it that favored her — Fate or Prov- 
idence — she wondered vaguely, as she pressed 
her hands to her burning, throbbing head, that 
John should be called out into the country? 
He came up hastily, and she brushed her things 
into a drawer and sat down by the fire, which 
made the plain room cheerful on this April 
night. There was a home glow about it after 
all — a friendly cheer that made the dark chill 
streets seem uninviting. He brushed his hair 
hastily, saying : 

"Do not sit up for me, Margaret. I have a 
long ride before me." 

"I shall not sit up," she said, with a tremor 
in her voice at the hidden meaning of her words. 

Would she ever see him again ? Why should 
he bend over the child's crib and kiss her ? He 
loved her, of course; but it had been in a quiet, 
passionless way, she thought. What if there 

were depths in his nature that she had never 
fathomed ! What if she were wounding him 
cruelly, fatally, in taking the child away ! 
Thought after thought seemed turning, whirl- 
ing in her weary brain, like the wheels of a 
ponderous machine ; but some wheel was want- 
ing, perhaps, and so the rest clashed on in a 
blind and aimless way, and worked out nothing. 

Then Aunt Hetty came in. She was John's 
aunt — a bustling, gossiping, meddling old lady, 
truly kind at heart ; but Margaret had always re- 
belled against her. She took all the cares and 
household tasks and burdens off Mrs. Thome's 
dainty shoulders ; but then those very cares 
might have been healthful for one who knew 
not how to use the energies of life. And so 
Margaret grudged her the bustling cheerfulness 
with which she set about the preserving, and 
had tussles with the baker, and jokes with the 
butcher, and saved John a peck of coal a day 
by having the cinders sifted, and made her life 
as varied and pleasant to herself as though ev- 
ery phase was as important as the things we 
dramatize. She grumbled at Margaret some- 
times; indeed, Mrs. Thorne was wont to say 
that her temper, like her pickles, was a "pleas- 
ant sour." But then Margaret did not make 
John happy ; more than this, she did not try to 
make John happy ; and Aunt Hetty recognized 
no greater sin. 

"I've brought ye a cup o' pennyryal tea, 
Margaret, for you looked kind o' peakit at din- 
ner ; an no wonder — you seem clean beat out 
a-walkin. In my young days married ladies — 
nor young ones neither — didn't go scouring 
round the country like mad, a-spiling good silks 
that their husbands arned." 

Sharp Aunt Hetty ! she had seen the country 
soil on the violet silk. 

Margaret thought her own thoughts, and 
hardly heard a word. 

"I tell you, Margaret," said Aunt Hetty, in 
a solemn way, "you hain't got a mother, an I 
must stan in her place. I tell you you ain't a 
doin yer dooty by John. You an he seem to be 
gittin farther apart every day. Now if you call 
yourself a Christian woman — " 

' ' But I &o not," interrupted Margaret, fiercely. 

" Sakes alive!" said Aunt Hetty, putting up 
her fat hands in horror, "if yer a heathen tain't 
no use a-sayin nothin — if ye hain't the fear of 
God before your eyes, I can't expect ye'll care 
much about yer vows to man ; but ye did, ye 
know ye did, stan up in God's house an prom- 
ise to love, honor, and obey an the rest of it. 
How ye've kep the promise ye know in yer 

"If John does not complain it is nothing to 
you," said Margaret, with oh such an aching 
heart and head, such a mad longing to stop her 
ears, to be rid in some way of this dreadful wo- 
man who was arraigning her at the bar of jus- 
tice, and bringing fearful charges to which she 
must plead " guilty!" 

"Is he the kind of man to complain?" said 
Aunt Hetty, drearily; "but don't I see him 



growin silenter every day. An a thinkin, think- [ 
in, I know, of what he hoped his home would 
be, when he brought such a bright, hllWMM 
gal as you was to it. An how it's a growin 
darker every day. He complain ! I think 1 
see him complainin of you. He's like them 
Spartan boys in the history, he wouldn't flinch 
though the great grief was a tearin at his vitals." 

"My head aches," said Mar-ant. wearily, 
wondering if John had really suffered any thing, 
so quiet, so self-contained as he had always 
been. Why, she would have loved him almost 
if he had appeared to be wounded, if sho could 
have stung him to passion or indignation, or in 
anyway moved him from the quiet, settled tenor 
of his ways. 

"Well, good-night! I'm a-goin up to my 
room now. You're up here, an it's kind o' lone- 
some down stairs. I hope ye'll take it kindly 
what I said. It's for the happiness of ye both, 
I'm sure." 

Ah! a clear field now — Fate or PkavidODCt, 
which? Margaret rou-ed her.-clf from a tnUftM 
of pain and gathered her bundles again, 
could take more now, faff there- was nothing in 
the way of her hiring a boy in the sin t t<»< arry j 
her baggage. She looked at her wateli anxious- 
ly. There was yet time to take the down boat 
and be in New York in the morning. 

She took Dot out of the little crib, and the 
child opened sleepy eves like dew-wet fid 
and laughed at the gay scarlet (look that was 
wrapped around her. " She does not know that 
she is losing home and father to-night." Raid I 
Margaret, sadly, as another tear rolled down her 1 
cheek. All for Dot, of course. 

Well, all was ready. There was no need to 
wait; no need for afar g a it t to lay hrr head on 
the pillow where she should never rest apt in. 
and shed hot tears, almost , f re- ret : no need 
that she should put more wood on the fire, so 
that, looking back from the dark street when 
far on her way. she might sec the ruddy glow 
like a kindly farewell from the old home ; no 
need, certainly, that she should put J< hn's slij^- 
pers to the tire, and his dressing-gown on t!i<- 
arm-chair for him to use when he came back 
from that long, chill ride. Poor fellow! he 
would meet a deadlier chill by that household 
fire than night or storm could bring him. As 
if he could take his comfort when he knew all. 
Poor John ! 

How weak she was growing! She must hum- 
away before this soft, pitying mood spoiled all*. 
She had chosen. But men pitied the foe some 
times, even when they struek the death-blow, 
and she might pity John. He was not her foe, 
he had meant to be kind perhaps, but she was 
going to strike him a deadly blow for all that. 
She pictured his first entrance, his first surprise, 
his horror, his fright, his eager, fruitless search. 
Poor, poor John ! 

Well — she was in the street now, and the wind 1 
blowing fresh from the river. Somehow things 
seemed drifting away strangely like the scenes I 
in a panorama; now it was a lighted shop-win- | 

dow that lifted itself up ami Moated away like a 
bubble; then the boy before her. loaded with 
her bundles, seemed to l»e cresting the hu 
dark wave of some unseen ocean, and to rfn 
and fall w it h its tideh-ss- current. Were they 
all sinking together, and was this the wages of 
sin ? But she held Dot fast through nil. 

Ha! there was the boat: it blinked up the 
street with a dozen shining eyes of light, nnd a 
white moon made a long silver path behind 
it on the dark water. The clang of a btU 
shrilled through the night-air and seemed t > 
strike her head like a blow. People were hur- 
rying on. and she drifted with them. A ha] ; \ 
young con] le passed her with pleasant chat be- 
tween them al>out getting their state-room. 
She remembered that she had never traveled 
alone before. Did sho envy the young woman 
who sank luxuriously upon a sofa while her 
husband bustled about and tended to every 
thing! Did this first entrance on the world of 
strife appnll lur? Oh no! Better, she said, 
the fiercest wrestling with outer life if one has 
peace within. Rut where was the inner peace? 
Ah! that would come in time when »hc had 
gathered together and rewo\en again the thread* 

The young woman near her leaned over and 
looked at Dot. "A little angel," she us id, 
smiling ; " how happy you must lie!" 

Margaret wondered bitterly if this cnviabla 
creature envied her. Perhaps every one wif 
wretched, and nil appearance of happiness waa 
but a mask — perhaps all joy was but tin- outer 
shell, that in every heart was a "seething, res»- 
lesa hell." Did not "the whole creation groan 
and travail together in pain until now?" 

The young w oman was a Ynnkee, and walked 
in wisdom's ways by the help of questions. "Is 
your husband below?" she asked. 

Margaret winced, and said "No." 

•• Are you alone with that little thing?" 

Margaret nodded. 

" Well, I'll make Will get you a state-room." 
she said, good-naturedly ; " lie s the dearest fel- 
low — but I'd give my eyes for a baby like that." 
And Margaret thanked the friendly young wo- 
man, but shrank from her nevertheless — the con- 
test was too new, the wound too terrible to be 
touehed by the kindest hand. 

When Dot was asleep again she went on deck 
for a little while. It was a eloudle-s night — only 
fair and pearly fra_rrn< :.t- < f el -ud l.-n,' low at 
the horizon — above, all was gold-starred azure. 
The water lay sparkling, phosphorescent — plowed 
by the l>oat, it fell back in showers of diamonds, 
or a deliea:<- silvery spray. On the banks were 
wooded hills crested by fair homes. It looked 
like dream-land in that pallid light — too unreal 
a world l'< r men t . Hitler and tr 'd > n - How fast 
they went! Margaret was glad to bear the 
wheels' swift turnings and the labored panting 
of the great machine like a monster struggling 
for breath. How many miles already between 
her and the old life ! yet she could not realize 
it. It haunted her yet, and weighed her down, 



like the Old Man of the Sea in the fairy tale. 
So many miles from John ! Yet somehow she 
seemed nearer to him than when she sat by his 
side at table that day. Strange that she could 
never forget him — that she must be wearied with 
an endless iteration of the same scene. Strange 
that she could not leave him behind utterly, with 
the repudiated old life. No — not strange, since 
she must take with her always her own heart. 
Well, it was weary work, after all, watching the 
ceaseless shine and sparkle of the waves ; so she 
went in, and lay down by the side of innocent 
little Dot, and slept a dreamless sleep. 

A morning of mist and fog — fog reeking in 
the sunshine, lingering in shreds on forests of 
masts, hanging tender lace-like veils before the 
great warehouses and over the squalor of the 
low tenements filled with dirty, quarreling chil- 
dren — fog brooding on the river, yet wearing 
opaline hues in the sunshine. A fog so dense 
that the great steamboat, where Margaret was 
hustled about in the crowd, seemed the only 
real and tangible thing in the universe. The 
whole world behind her seemed blotted out — 
the world before her was as the baseless fabric 
of a vision — a cloud-land of vague shapes and 
dream fancies. But the street Avas solid enough 
after all. Only, strange to say, it came forward 
to meet her after a fashion most unusual to 
streets. Had every thing lost its balance — had 
the world itself swung from its orbit, because 
she had been recreant to the laws of God and 
man ? 

She did not call a carriage. Clogs seemed 
bound upon her feet, pain racked her, and the 
hot, swift blood rushed with resistless tide to- 
ward her brain ; but still she remembered 
through all that she had" no funds to spare. 
She had known New York all her life, and 
needed no guide. She would make her way 
now to one of her old art-friends and rest for 
a few days, she thought, before beginning the 
pleasant new life beyond the sea. 

Dot stretched out her hands and smiled at 
every thing as if she wished to embrace this 
beautiful new world which opened before her — 
made up to her baby vision chiefly of plate- 
glass windows and rainbow hues. She did not 
miss her father's face that morning. Were 
they sitting down to breakfast yet at home, 
Margaret wondered vaguely, looking in at a 
watch-maker's. Ah, yes ! John would be punc- 
tual, of course — breakfast at eight, life or death. 

How the pain stabbed her head ! Was she 
going to be ill ? Well, if so, she would have no 
one to worry her with attentions or drive her 
into a fever with fussing; but then Dot, poor 
little Dot! Oh no! she must not, she would 
not be ill ; and at the thought came a great 
whir in the life machinery — a sudden crash, 
and the wondrous machine stood still. The 
pain dropped away like a garment — beating 
heart and burning brow ; they grew very silent 
now, and a great, cool darkness wrapped her in 
a beneficent mantle. 

When life came back again, and the wheels 

moved once more in a jarring, spasmodic way, 
she gathered all her strength and rose to her 
feet. Looking at her empty arms she gave a 
terrible cry. Searching eagerly around she saw 
that she stood in a doctor's office, and the doc- 
tor himself was near her. A stiff, peremptory 
little man, with gold spectacles on, red hair, 
and an oracular voice that commanded her to 
sit down at once. 

" My child !" she panted out. 

' ' Well enough, well enough my good lady ; 
if you were half as well off you might thank 
your stars. My wife has got her asleep in the 
next room." 

"I must have her, I must have her!" cried 
Margaret, in a wild way. "I have lost every 
thing but her !" 

The doctor looked as if he thought she had 
certainly lost her reason for one thing. 

"Certainly! you shall have her. Do you 
know how ill you have been ?" 

"I suppose so ; but I am well now, and must 
be going." 

"You are not well; I am confident of that. 
Let me examine and see if I can not prescribe 
for you. Does your heart always beat in this 

1 1 It will beat in this way till you give me my 
child," said Margaret, fiercely, rising and draw- 
ing away from the stethoscope. "I am well — 
look at me," she continued, glancing proudly in 
the glass at her glittering eyes and glowing 
cheeks; "do your patients wear such color as 
that, or look on the world through such clear 
eyes ? I am well, I must be well for the work I 
have to do ; bring me the child !" 

The doctor sighed a little as he left the room, 
and he was not wont to sigh. But Margaret 
laughed. She examined herself in the glass as 
she had never done before, even on her wedding 
night. Ill ! with that bloom on her cheek, 
with those firm yet rounded outlines. She 
turned away in the satisfied pride of strength 
and beauty — turned to go impatiently toward the 
open door through which the doctor had disap- 
peared; turned to hear from the other room 
these words uttered in an explosive whisper : 

"I tell you, wife, she can not live a year. I 
listened to her heart, and it is beating now the 
knell of doom." 

"And can it not be cured ?" 

"Any excitement would take her in a mo- 

"Ah, ah!" a prolonged exclamation of pity 
and then silence. Silence every where ; did 
the clock forget to tick ? did her heart forget to 
beat ? was the supreme moment already come ? 
To die! why this altered the face of all the 
world ; why this swept the solid earth away ; 
why this tore out all the leaves of life ; and 
where was the fair new page ? Where were all 
her plans, and hopes, and dreams ? Could her 
life-boat go down in a silent sea like this ? 

She covered her face Avith her hands, and felt 
once more her heart like a muffled drum beat- 
ing its funeral march. And she had railed at 


life and at the work-day world as if God should 
have spread for her upon the table of life a con- 
tinual feast. She had groaned, "Oh, weary, 
weary days!" and had let them fall one at't-.T 
another carelessly as scattered rose-leaves COB 
the ground ; now they seemed worth picking 
up again — now the dreariest was worth reliv- 
ing because she was not ready to die. 

To die; but she had hardly thought of death 
even in her fiercest unrest, for life, for life she 
had been ready to battle with the world ; but 
here right in her way lay the impassable gulf, 
and what beyond ? 

Ah, what beyond ! She had set aside human 
law, she had snapped the strongest human ties 
like a tender thread; and now God, leaning 
down, had laid His hand uj on her. 

She took Dot in her arm* huh •hanicallv when 
the Doctor brought her back, and rcfiiM-d nil 
offers of assistance. One purj>osc sha|»cd Itself 
in her brain amidst the general numbness that 
was diffusing itself over her. to take D-t bOOM 
again. She must die and leave her; then she 
would leave her with .John. l'ven fti**y m 
thcrly Aunt Hetty would be invaluable to the 
child. Then she thought how the little thing 
would have brightened her nib, 8*611 in the 
prim, dull home. It was ] Icis.-mt after nil to 
tell .John about her new little all*, ami to see 
the love for Dot transfigure his plnin face ; |mt- 
hnps through this child they might have grown 
nearer together one day. Hut she had thrown 
away her chance for this and now it could never 
be, never now | 

The fog hail not parsed away but fell in line, 
silvery showers — April showers mingled with 
sunshine. A woman at the corner of tin* street 
was selling violets. How the odor brought back 
her wedding-day to Margaret, when she bad 
searched through the poor little city garden und 
found a few with such triumph ! The violet 
seller had a child with her too, a forlorn little 
sickly girl, but she was comforting her with 
these words as Margaret went by : 

"Yes, my darlint, be asy till mammy soil* 
her truck, an thin we'll be afther haviug the 
foine dinner — didn't ye hear ycr daddv promise 
a gran sirloin an a wee cake for his colleen — an 
it's not often we do be havin the mate now, 
more's the pity :*' 

Did Margaret envy the poor, ignorant woman 
who looked on violets as truck, and who would 
go home to a shanty and cat her steak in an at- 
mosphere of foul odors? Almost, for this wo- 
man had a home and a husband, a loving heart 
and a household lire, while she had cast both 
away; this woman had a robust vitality about 
her that told of life, life to care for and tend her 
delicate little one, while she was walking in 
a black shadow — the Vallev of the Shadow of 

What wonder that she stretched out impotent 
hands and cried out, "Oh, John, forgive ! for- 
give !" and lost all sense and power at the words. 

A soft air that just lifted the thin curtain ; 

| a sunlight that sifted through it; a faint odor 
1 of violets in the room ; a cluster . f Kaster lilies 
j on the table near her shining in pearl and gold, 
sometimes floating about in strange confusion, 
sometimes looking fixed and real, till she mur- 
mured aloud : 

" I miieo on >•>•* that can not era**, 
run- epacin cluthed in living beams 
I*ure lUle* of t-U'rnal pvarr. 
Whom udon haunt niy dreamt." 

" Talkin poetry," sai A ' II- i. u h r 
"then she'll git well f r Mire. Sin's a-romin 
to her right mind, that's ccrtin ; for |oetr\'>* 
second natur t» her." 

"Hush!" said John, bending tenderly over 
her: "she kiu-ns me, I do Udicre." 

So this was home, then — or n drvam. A 
dream, |>erhn|*, for it was so sweet. John 
was looking at her with his heart in hi* eye*, 
and wMmring tender words. He loved her, 
(hen. Why, this would make life beautiful. 
Hut she v* as tu»t to have it; she was not to have 

life, but death. 

" I am M.rry, John," sho faltered. "Wo 
should hate grown nearer in time. Forgive 
me that I dam!—" 

" I haro not!.: tig to forgive, my darling," 
John I- g »n ; and he looked »<• l>ewildered that 
Margaret wondered ngatu if it WU n ilreiim. 
Hut there were the lilies with their pearly hells 
near her. Me- must have gone to church ami 

Hut then how was it possible to lie here? And 
life looked lorclv even in the i»rim dull room • 

even with the kind and fussy aunt, who wn« 
even then bathing her forehead with Cologne. 
Ay, life looked lovely, but it ww passing ; and 
before ber stm^l an open grave. 

" Now yer lookin natural," said Aunt Hetty, 
smoothing the rich waves of gold-brown hair; 
"we'll hare yon a* chirk as ever in a week. 
Now I'll jest go an rook yon up a bit of chicken 
' broth ; for you know you scarcely picked a bit 
yesterday at dinner." 

Surely she was dreaming now. The lilies 
seemed to bud and bloom and spread out into a 
wonderful tree, under whose branches she *at 
and looked through a thicket of starry flowers 
at John's grave face. 

" Yestcrd»J f " she dreamily said ; "did I dine 
here yesterday ?" 

" Of course, my darling; and I thought you 
were not well then. To think I should have 
been off in the country when you were taken so 
ill. You have l»een wandering all night.*' 
Wandering indeed, thought Margaret; how 
. far 6he had wandered from the path of right in 
plan and puq*»se she could not tell him then. 

"Oh, John!" she said, stretching out her 
hand, M they said I could not live a year, and 
then I thought of you V* 

M That was only one of your vagaries, dear," 
he said, briskly. " You will live to be a grand- 
mother, as far as I know, and dance Dot's chil- 



dren on your knee. Here she comes, fresh as 
a daisy, bless her little heart!" 

Ah, it was not a dream ; for her own little 
Birdie nestled down at her side, and she knew 
that life was hers — life with all its chance for 
noble ends and uses — life to fill with kindly 
deeds, with helping words to others — life with 
its trials to be nobly borne, its shadows in which 
to work for a Heavenly crown. Then her heart 
echoed the joyful pajan, "Christ our Lord has 
risen to-day!" for later than the date in the Chris- 
tian year had dawned the true resurrection in 
her heart. Christ, bursting through the hard 
rock of skepticism and dark unbelief, had risen 
to-day in her rejoicing soul with healing on His 
wings. Then she took the Easter lilies and 
pressed the frail, pure things to her lips, giving 
God praise that she had come back also through 
the grave and gate of death into newness of 
life ; and that love, a cold, dead seed lying un- 
der snows colder than wildest storms can give, 
had found an earthly spring, and lifted itself up 
through the hard surface to burgeon and bloom 
and fill her life with fragrance. 


THERE is nothing that at once strikes a cas- 
ual visitor to the English Parliament more 
unpleasantly — especially if he has sat in the 
spacious galleries of the Capitol at Washington 
— than the way in which the architects of West- 
minster Hall have ignored the existence of the 
people as a body vitally interested in the pro- 
ceedings of those who are supposed to be their 
representatives. No matter how important the 
debate that is to take place, only about one hun- 
dred and fifty or two hundred out of the thirty 
millions of England can be admitted into the 
Commons' House. And what do not these have 
to go through ! About one half have had their 
names inserted in the list which admits to the 
Speaker's Gallery. About twenty ladies — prin- 
cipally the families of members who are to take 
part in the debate — are crowded into the Ladies' 
Gallery. The rest must cram themselves into 
the Strangers' Gallery. 

In order to get into this last place Ave first get 
an order of admission from a member of the 
House. We then have to sit in a kind of closet 
from four o'clock in the morning until four of the 
afternoon, when the Parliament opens. (This, 
of course, is when there is some unusual attrac- 
tion.) We do not sit here all this time in pro- 
pria persona, but obtain what is called a "dum- 
my." This "dummy" is the first poor ragged 
wretch that maybe picked up in the streets with 
nothing to do. It is not to be supposed that 
the ragged regiment who crowd to the door of 
the closet referred to at daybreak, with notes 
from Members of Parliament in their hands, 
have any interest beyond a passionate, sleepless 
desire to hear a great orator. Oh, dear no ! 
Nor is it to be for an instant thought that when, 
in the afternoon, one of these meekly or even 

eagerly resigns his place to a well-dressed comer 
that it is any thing more than pure self-sacrifice. 
If I were to intimate that, when I lately went to 
hear Mr. Gladstone introduce the new Reform 
Bill, and a seedy boy, out at the elbows, kindly 
yielded to me place No. 6, in which he had been 
sitting eleven hours, I sat there witli $2 50 in 
gold less in my purse than before, the report 
might reach Her Majesty's immaculate Govern- 
ment, and a most disinterested functionary might 
lose his place. Consequently, as you see, I was 
ushered in by powerful friends, and paid nothing 
— nothing whatever, I assure you ! 

It was a very odd place for me to be in — that 
closet at the foot of the stairway leading to the 
Strangers' Gallery. When I went in and re- 
lieved poor No. 6, I looked around at my com- 
pany. But few had as yet been relieved from 
their long watch, and never since the days of 
Falstaff did eyes behold a more melancholy troop 
than those who were presumably the auditors of 
Mr. Gladstone. Through the reeking air of 
the dark, subterranean place, which by severe 
crowding held fifty-eight persons, one could see 
the faces, the filthy raiment, the debauched ex- 
pression of those who would a few hours later 
be distributed among the dens, station-houses, 
and work-houses of London. As you gaze a 
functionary in uniform starts in at the door and 
cries, "The Hon. Yelverton Hensleigh !" Each 
poor wretch looks hard at the back of his bit of 
paper, some asking their neighbors to spell out 
what is on theirs. "The Hon. Yelverton Hens- 
leigh !" shouts again the official. "Think as 
that's me," pipes up a half-naked and very dirty 
little boy. He is called forth. A few novices 
explode at the fiction ; but the policemen look 
very solemn as the elegant aristocrat comes for- 
ward and takes the seat and order from his 

At last the ragamuffins with their grand aris- 
tocratic and literary names have all gone ; in 
their places a well-dressed and select company 
has appeared ; but there, chatting or reading by 
the one gas-jet, we must remain one hour. At 
last, however, the great Westminster clock tolls 
four ; a long single file begins to coil slowly up- 
ward through a close, dark series of stairways ; 
but at last a curtain is drawn aside, and ere we 
know it we are seated on delightful cushions 
looking down on the assembling wisdom of En- 

The room is small, though not so small as 
the deceptive Gothic style of it makes one ar 
first believe. The carvings and ornamentation 
of it are exquisite. At the other end of the 
room, high up on the wall, is what the novice 
at once takes to be a delicate series of tapes- 
tries ; but as he gazes some movement starts 
his eye upon a search, which ends in his con- 
clusion that they are ladies. Yes, behind a dia- 
mond lattice-work in the wall are the score of 
ladies to whom that veiled presence was con- 
ceded when these new Houses were built. It 
was not a generation ago that, in this land with 
a Queen, the interest of women in public affairs 



was supposed to be provided for by a small hole 
at the top of the building, around which a dozen 
ladies sat— a hole admitting one face at a time, 
through which peeresses peered by turns ! This 
Ladies' Gallery— holding twenty— was regarded 
as a formidable innovation, the Conservative 
not failing to observe that it was only a way-sta- | 
tion in their progress from the ceiling to the 
floor. And now that Mr. Mill has got there, 
who knows but that the Conservatives were light ? 

It would be hard to surpass the 
of the scene when some unusual occasion has 
brought together all the magnates of the conn- 
try — when the foreign ministers ami the j eers 
are in the places provided for them — and the 
wandering eye detects among the group of vis- 
itors Tennyson or Owen or Fronde — and when, 
as the bishop's prayer close-, a great flood of 
tinted light descends through the ceiling of toned 
glass. The little ghostly procession out of the 
twelfth century — the Speaker with his gown and 
wig, with his attendants, in tights and kn<- •- 
buckles and queues, holding up his train or car- 
rying the mace before him — has entered. And 
now we are called away from the far past, from 
all memory of our M dummy" and our dark clos- 
et, and we are even charmed away from the 
beautiful scene; for the nineteenth century 
speaks to us through the voice of Gladstone, 
who rises to propose and plead for a measure 
of Reform which, if passed, will go far to thaw 
and BfWl away this little House of Common-., 
and build one worthy to be the council cham- 
ber of a new England, in which no class or in- 
terest shall be unrepre-eiite l. 

All the great statesmen who have ever li\e-l 
have belonged to one of two clusscs — the class 
of Representatives or that of leaders. The 
Representative Man is the direct expression of 
his country at the time of his connection with 
it. He may he its practical expression — as Na- 
poleon of E ranee or Wellington of Kngland : or 
he may be its voice — as Burke was thai - t En- 
gland and Webster that of America. It i> es- 
sential only that he keep abreast with the peo- 
ple, and say or do what they wish to hut can 
not say or do. The Leader is not abreast with 
but just ahead of his time and country. Ib- 
says or does not what they wish but what 
they want, not what they are but what they 
mean, lie interprets them, and often he inter- 
prets them best when he is seemingly in an- 
tagonism with them, l'aul, Luther, Calvin, 
arc historic names in the latter class : and in 
modern times we have them represented in Italy 
by Cavour and Mazzini ; in England by l'alu.. 
ston and Gladstone. In England the death of 
the great Representative of the English ]>eople 
has made way for the accession of their great 
Leader, who now stands in the front of the Com- 
mons. Bnt even as it is hard to classify En- 
gland it is hard to classify Gladstone. All 
other nations, from Japan to California, may be 
described as somewhere in the vast railway train 
of peoples ; but England is aside, running on a 
groove of her own. Her island is the deposit 

of many sea-currents from the s. iU .-t* various 
other lands; her Constitution is made of tho 
odds and ends of all others in Europe ; her peo- 
ple is mixed of all Euroj^an races; and licr 
foremost orator is as complex as the ] h\ 
moral, or political elements of his country. 

Gladstone is a Scotchman, with a purely En- 
glish training. He was bred a Tory, and is Ow 
leader of tho Liberal party. He is a plebeian 
aristocrat; a royalist who studied and learned 
to hate despotism in the court of 1> mba ; alliji 
Churchman, w ho once wrote a Pttscyistic book, 
whom Oxford fears ; a reformer on whom the 
Argus of liberty buds it needful to keep its hun- 
ted eyes wide oj-en. He has given each port? 
its finest watch-w.-rd. for the England he loves 
includes them nil ; yet no party would go to 
him to find an advocate Finding each party 
devoted MM h more to its own shell than to its 
own essence, he louche* them all with his wand 
and they unclose, revealing valuable kernels un- 
suspected by themselves. His theory of oratory 
classes him among tho leaders. The orator 
must, ns he once said, 4t it'turn to ihc people us 
flood what he has received as vapor." The Ko|>- 
resontative would return the vnpor ho had re- 
ceived more or less rarefied. It is never of a 
high kind of man that one can say, " He is al- 
ways up to the people," or, * 4 He goes a* fast ns 
the people will let him." The leader will fuse 
nnd remould public opinion. He will *|«enk to 
marble, never doubting that it will Mush with 
life under his words, nnd follow his voice a* some- 
thing for which it has been waiting, In. and by 
an evil sjicll. Hut the task of the Leader lice 
in his presentative if not in his representative 
power; that is, he is Ml necessarily an oiigiua- 
tor. To the masses all not dictated by them- 
selves may seem innovation or originality, as 
they like or dislike it. Tho Leader, however, 
tins leaders; nnd he is oftener than otherwise a 
mediator between the highest thought of his 
time and the |«coplc. Mr. Gladstone, as wo sit 
here, charms away tho weariness of hours with 
an eloquence that, though it is figured and 
changed with the forms of his own mind as that 
light is by the stained windows, is clearly trace- 
able to many a Military thinker — not the least to 
that thin, quietly-nervous representative of West- 
minster, who is so fascinate. 1 by the iin-u-p< < led 
scrolls into which he finds his own ideas may bo 

When Mr. Gladstone rises there is n flutter 
of expectation and anxiety throughout the room ; 
w hat he will say is utterly unpredictable. WhCfl 
John Bright, the finest orator in Europe of (M 
Representative class, rises, his speech is so writ- 
, ten out on his broad, handsome face that Lnvn- 
I ter, were he reporter for the 7 ' . ponld write 
it all out before he got through. But Glad- 
j stone's face is, during the first ten minutes, the 
i sheath of the man ; nnd his idea only comes out 
1 gleam by gleam, until, a true Damascus blade, 
, it flashes and darts in graceful curves — such a 
{ splendid fencer is he! — and at length is wielded 
| with that skill which generally wins the day. 



Nature has, in the clear steel-ray of his eye, the 
fortress-like brow that protects it, the firm nose 
that is its buttress above, though it becomes re- 
fined and Greekish as it descends to the flexible 
lips, given him a fit casket in which to keep his 
brilliants. His gestures are more frequent than 
with the earlier great speakers of Parliament, 
but are quite his own. He has, in particular, a 
way of raising his hand up to the side of his 
temples, and holding it there vertically a mo- 
ment before it descends to emphasize his point, 
which is remarkably impressive. It is, however, 
in the modulations of his voice, in the tones 
which come each embodied in a word which ex- 
presses it as truly as pallor or blush expresses an 
emotion, that the great culture of Gladstone is 
revealed. One seems to be listening to the ut- 
terances of some invisible procession of great 
spirits — stretching from Homer, Demosthenes, 
Simonides, to Erasmus and Bacon. As his 
words are, so to speak, complexioned, so his 
style is physiognomical. His sentences carry 
in their form something beyond the mere mean- 
ing of the words. 

It was wonderful, indeed, to see a man of 
this nicety of culture floundering in the great 
Reform Debate among the old phrases and he- 
reditary expedients of England ; and it was not 
a small tribute to him, that while he touched 
them they assumed a certain dignity. Fancy 
the flower of Oxonian culture talking about 
scot and lot owners and potwallopers ! Yet, 
really, when Gladstone spoke of potwallopers 
one seemed to find a new dignity in the solitary 
individual — a widower, mayhap, or hermit, or 
scholar — whose boiling pot assured him an in- 
terest in his country, and entitled him to the 
franchise. And so did he build statistics up 
into pretty architectural forms. Nevertheless 
in the pauses of his speech one could but feel a 
longing to hear that voice filled with the inspira- 
tion of universal questions, and not devoting it- 
self to the tremendous issue of whether the En- 
glish voter should be a renter to the sum of 
seven or of ten pounds. Pounds — pounds — 
pounds — pounds. The words were reiterated 
until one would think we had all gathered to 
perform a solemn rite to a great gold sovereign. 
I reflected on the wit of that photographer, who, 
having lately to make a likeness of the Chan- 
cellor of the Exchequer, set up a pound sterling 
in order to rivet his eye. It is one advantage 
that we of America have reaped from the slav- 
ery agitation in America that our people have 
been educated into an interest in and knowledge 
of great human questions, and that our Con- 
gressmen, in however rude, unoxonian speeches, 
deal with such. Though the Church questions, 
and the Irish wrongs, have given of late a deep- 
er tone to the English Parliamentary debates, 
yet even now, in four days out of the five of its 
weekly sittings, one will find an immense amount 
of learning, research, and thought devoted to the 
Armstrong gun, to the Pigville Railway Com- 
pany, and other questions of similar grandeur. 

The subject of Reform was one, however, 

which, once unsealed, could not be kept down 
in the small casket of statistics. And all who 
listened to Gladstone when he introduced the 
bill knew that he must rise with the momentous 
importance of the theme. He disappointed all 
who went to hear him as an orator in this ; for 
his main object being to conciliate the Tories — 
knowing that the reformers were sure to take 
whatever extension they could get — he devoted 
himself at the close of his statement to proving 
that it was a comparatively unimportant change. 
We had a fine chance to witness the orator's dex- 
terity in talking to one extreme what the other 
must not hear, and in gilding a revolutionary 
pill ; but there was scarcely a touch of heroism 
in the speech. The conclusion was the nearest 
approach to a brave treatment, and occupied 
five minutes of the speech, which was of two 
and a half hours' duration. It was an appeal 
to the Tories, whose objection, it must be re- 
membered, to the extension of the franchise is 
that the admission of the working-classes is, on 
account of their numbers, the virtual disfran- 
chisement of the higher and more educated 
classes : 

"We do not," said Mr. Gladstone, "■entirely abandon 
the expectation that even those who have protested al- 
most in principle against the extension of the franchise 
downward, will be disposed to accept a measure which 
they do not wholly approve if they think it offers the 
promise of the settlement for a considerable period of a 
grave, important, complex, and difficult subject. I would 
beg them to consider what an immense value there is in 
the extension of the franchise for its own sake. Liberty is 
a thing which is good not only in its fruits, but in itself. 
This is what we constantly say in regard to English legis- 
lation, when we are told that affairs are managed more 
economically, more cleverly, and elfectually in foreign 
countries. Yes, we answer, but here they are managed 
freely ; and in freedom, in the free discharge of political 
duties, there is an immense power both of discipline and 
of education for the people. We can not consent to look 
upon this large addition, considerable although it may be, 
to the political power of the working-classes of this coun- 
try as if it were an addition fraught with nothing but 
danger. We can not look upon it as the Trojan horse ap- 
proaching the walls of the sacred city, and filled with 
armed men bent on ruin, plunder, and confiscation. We 
can not join in comparing it with that monstrum infelix 
— we can not say : 

1 Scandit fatalis machina muros, 

Foeta avmis ; mediseque minans illabitur urbi.' 

I believe that those persons whom Ave ask you to enfran- 
chise ought rather to be welcomed as you would welcome 
recruits to your army. We ask you to give within what 
you consider to be the just limits of prudence and circum- 
spection, but, having determined those limits, to give 
with an ungrudging hand. Consider what you can safely 
and justly afford to do in admitting new subjects and citi- 
zens within the pale of the Parliamentary Constitution ; 
and, having so considered it, don't do it as if you were 
compounding with danger and misfortune. Do it as if 
you were conferring a boon that will be felt and recipro- 
cated m grateful attachment. Give to these persons new 
interests in the Constitution — new interests which, by the 
beneficent working of the laws of Nature and Providence, 
shall beget in them new attachment to the Constitution ; 
for the attachment of the people to the throne and to the 
laws under which they live is, after all, more than your 
gold and your silver, more than your fleets and your ar- 
mies, at once the strength, the glory, and the safety of 
the land." 

Nothing could exceed the grace and dignity 
with which this peroration was delivered ; and 



every word and thought in it will bear a micro- 
scopic criticism. Yet it was in listening to this 
that I felt Gladstone's limitations as an orator. 
There was a certain lack of moral depth in the 
speaker. l J ectus est quod discrtum farlt. No- 
thing can go farther than it has come. Tl 
plaudits which responded to these words v. 
loud but not deep. Jntelleetually Mr. Glad- 
stone is profound though not broad; morally 
he is broad but not profound. I haw never in 
this or any speech been thrilled bj him except 
on the intellectual side. All the parties and 
the people of England find a reception in hil 
heart — for he is one of the few politicians who 
have hearts — but it is the reception of ft draw- ' 
ing-room ; they have no homes then-. Ht k 
therefore a leader for an intermediate p!nw I..-, 
tween two En^lands. and the forermim-r . i > ::. 
man with convictions rather than oj nions. 

If I mistake not, the working-men < f England 

will never obtain their franchises under the h a,'. 
crship of Gladstone. C'arNlo reminds ui that 
when any great change is to lie wrought God 
raises up men to whom that ehnnpe is made to 
appear as the our thimj mi <//«/. Nobodv would 
ever suspect Mr. Gladstone of thinking the « n- 
franchisement of the English workin^-mcn the I 

one thing needful ; there was far more of that 
kind of feeling about Mr. Horsmnn when he 
bitterly denounced Karl Kussell and Ids minis- 
ters as having at last laid the Government at 
the feet of, John J'.iLht. It will be imj o*sihle 
for the men of strong convictions on the radiea] 
side to bring in thtir one-thing-necdfnl p.wer 
uj>on a timid half-measure like that now i r >• 
posed ; and so it is probable that, tietween their 
indifference and the bitter hostility of the To- 
ries anil the Palmcrston mourners, the measure 
may fail. If it does, let it not be supposed that 
Knplish liberty has received any blow. When 
the ditfu»ion of intelligence among the Knplish 
lower rlassvt shall have gone on some voars 
yet; when the U^er-houses arc no longer ten- 
fold more numerous than the schools; when 
some of the hurd nod cruel religious dogmas, 
whose fetters on the minds and hearts of the 
lower orders are now hugged, shall U« bn ken ; 
they will bo worthy of a higher privilege than 
to write by another's hand their ignomnce upon 
a ballot and en»l it to be another link in the 

the ballot will |>e found to lie the recognition of 
nn elemental force more needed by Parliament 
than Parliament br it. 


T AM a live Amern-itn. 

Life's morning on my hreust ; 
In action, action is my BoaVOJL 

But Tojihet is in rest. 
I grapple savage Nature's mane, 

And make her to me bow, 
"While the iron Trump of Action storms 

In thunder o'er my brow — 
Push along, push along, keep moving! 

I crave no other nation's land; 

It must not cravo for mine: 
If it invades, here is mv sword, 

And yonder yawns the brine. 
So, let alone, the sooner all 

The elements must bow, 
While the iron Trump of Action storms 

In thunder o'er my brow- 
Push along, push along, keep moving ! 

But not for merely matters wealth 

I'm conquering the zone ; 
No! 'tis that Science, Letters. Art, 

Shall share my mighty throne: 
And yet unto their coronals 

Must all the nations bow, 
While the iron Trump of Action storms 

In thunder o'er my brow- 
Push along, push along, keep moving ! 


The, lightning is the |>cn of God 

On yonder sky for roe: 
It write*, so all the World mar read, 

"Forcvermore lie Free!" 
Niagara answer, the command, 

*'To Mortal Never Ilow!" 
While the- iron Trump of Action storms 

In thunder o'er my brow — 
Push along, pn»h along, keep moving! 

Oh, how divine, how rast my Creed! 

luirth, Heaven, own its span : 
TU rainbow-arched belief in God, 

And, also, faith in *ui*. 
This i, the Creed that's bound to make 

The king-blaopbeuu rH bow. 
While the iron Trump of Anion storm* 

In thunder o'er my brow — 
Push along, push along, keep moving ! 

Oh, welcome to this Nam World's lif<- ! 

Nor shall I slower sweep 
Till Nature's mane is wreathed with flowers 

On every conquered steep. 
Then I, pOffcape, will yearn to make 

Some other planet bow, 
▼I hile still the Trump of Action Ptonns 

In thunder o'er my brow — 
Push along, push along, keep moving '. 




IN the winter of 1859-GO I used to take the 
London Times every day from the hand of a 
gentleman who, like myself, used to read the 
papers at the well-known cafe of Sparagnapani, 
Under the Linden, in Berlin. The hour which 
suited our mutual convenience in going there 
was from twelve to one, and in time our passing 
salutations led to sentences, sentences to con- 
versation, conversation to acquaintance, and ac- 
quaintance, I can not forbear to think, to friend- 

This man was Henry Barth, the distinguished 
African explorer. He had just published his 
great work, and was quietly living in Berlin, 
waiting till some opening should present itself 
which should call his talents into occupation, 
and be worthy of his experience. A young man 
myself, his junior by about thirteen years, but 
Vol. XXXIII.— No. 193.— E 


like him a pupil of Hitter, there were many 
things in common between us, and our daily con- 
versation soon became to me one of the most 
pleasant features of the winter. In person he 
was short, compactly and stoutly built ; with a 
noble forehead, deep, dark eyes, regular feat- 
ures, and a bronzed complexion. He was in 
excellent condition ; yet full as was his face, and 
thick the solid coating of muscle which covered 
his cheek-bones, Barth had still so much mind, 
and so much sensibility, that what in many an- 
other man would have seemed like grossncss, 
was entirely lost from sight in the thoroughly 
intellectual expression which played over his 
features. Most reserved in his conversation 
with Germans and with Englishmen, he was 
affable and confidential with an American ; and 
to me it is to this day an enigma when I hear 



men use such expressions as this, that " Barth 
seemed the very incarnation of reserve." Our 
Minister at the Court of Berlin, who was ac- 
quainted with Barth, has the same impression 
of his character which I gained years ago, and 
can not believe that the man whom the world 
considered cold, unapproachable, suspicious, and 
reticent, was he whom he found open, free, and 

Yet doubtless much is to be said on both sides. 
His whole early training tended to make him 
reserved and a lover of solitude, yet not suspi- 
cious and jealous. He never had a boyhood in 
the strict sense of the word: his earliest world 
was one of thought, hope, expectation, and 
study. He grew up without play-ftOowt, Mid 
with but few companions save I >ks. In this 
way his taciturnity found a natural and ine\i: i- 
ble development. Advancing years made him 
more and more a student. His ample jkmuu- 
iwy means allowed him, when he becaim 
eler, to journey with BO companions but Ml NN - 
ants, and what might, under other circ .Mi- 
stances, have developed a rich, social nature, 
only proved the means of inducing an increase | 
of reserve and taciturnity. Yet the suspicious- 
ness which he manifested in his later u-arx. "as 
so far as I can learn, a product of .if: r-gr-.wth, 
and a result of disappointment* and of unexpect- 
ed ingratitude. 

The American public has seen B irth only 
from one point of view — the boll. < :.• < tful, un- 
daunted African explorer ; and the mun who en- 
countered the obstacles which he did, and \vl 
vanquished them all, would not seem t 
one to be the victim of di>ap]« •iutment. Yet he 
appears not to have led a bright, happy life. 
Among the rumors which have passed through 
the leading circles of Berlin society since hit 
death is one which I never heard when he was 
alive — namely, that the direction of his energies 
to travel through wild and unknown districts 
was originally occasioned by disappointment in 
love, and as this is mentioned by scientific gen- 
tlemen of the highest eminence, it can not, 1 
think, be devoid of truth. The lady to whom he 
was attached is said to be now residing in Ber- 
lin, happily and respectably married. 

But not to dwell on this romantic page of his 
career, which as only at best the record of ru- 
mors, there have been other agencies at work 
which have been effective in marring the quirt 
happiness of his life. After his return from his 
first great tour, of which I shall speak further 
on another page, Barth, laden with a travel- 
er's richest spoils, not mere light and pleasant 
sketches, but with original results of gr eat value, 
was appointed lecturer in the University of Ber- 
lin, and hoped to win a place not only in the 
affections of a large number of students, but also 
to realize his fond ideal of a successful teacher. 
In this he failed so signally as to embitter his 
spirits and crush his hopes. From his friend and 
my own, Professor Koner, of Berlin, I gather 
some particulars which, though stated with the 
caution and delicacy of friendship, make it evi- 

dent that Barth, though possessing some of the 
qualifications of a first-class lecturer, could not 
compete with others still more favored. He 
heaped up the ma»es of learning in such pro- 
digious quantities that students who had not 
made geography a special study could follow him 
neither with profit nor pleasure. Large wall- 
maj s not being used in the lecture-rooms of the 
University, he was still more disabled : and could 
even an American lecturer deal with desert] tive 
geography without some help faun wall-maps or 
illustrations ? Vet Barth's want of sine. - was 
necessarily sharph contrasted w ith the great and 
sustained enthusiasm which \ ear after year at- 
tended the geographical lectures of Carl Kitter. 
Thirty yean of lal*>r in the Berlin University 
had brought him to the height of his reputation, 
and hi* lecture-room, the largest in the Univers- 
ity, w .is alw a\ s throngi !. One might su: pose 
that geography being brought into the fore- 
ground by Hitter's unparalleled skill, a young 
man, standing under his protection and cnjo\ ing 
his warm friendship and entire confidence, would 
have entered into a full share of success ; but 
this was denied to Barth, and, dissatisfied with 
his attempts to enlist tho interest of the young 
men in his lectures, ho began to look around 
him for a new field of exploration where his dar- 
ing, his energy, and his hopefulness might ha\o 
free play. Hut hud he waited longer at Berlin, 
n happv, pr«Mj«erotis carver might have been his 
in spite of early discouragements. 

In no other country in the world is it so diffi- 
cult for a yonng University teacher to gain a 
fair start at in Germany ; in no other country 
can success lead to such large and varied honors 
as there. Will the reader allow mo to illustrate 
this remark for a moment, by a alight incident 
which I noted while in Ileidclburg last summer. 
At the University there the oldest son of Men- 
delssohn was lecturing on the History of the 
Greek Revolution, lie was said to be a young 
man of great learning, line apjica ranee, and of 
fiery enthusiasm. 1' i:ig \> r\ much interested 
in the character of his father, tho eminent mu- 
sician. I availed tut self of a spare hour to visit 
the University and hear one of his lecture'*. 
Arriving there, I inquired which was the num- 
ber of the room where the young Doctor would 
read, and was directed to number eight. Look- 
ing in, I saw no one, and went out into the cor- 
ridor, thinking that there must lie a mistake. 
Encountering there a nervous, slightly-built, 
florid young man, who waa hurrying along, I 
asked if that was Dr. Mendelssohn's Iecture- 
loorn, anl was answered ill the affirmative. 
Going in and waiting jiaticntly for some five 
minutes, the door Hew open as with a vigorous 
push, and the sarin- ;.' :ng man entered, walked 
hastily up to the desk, flung a huge roll of 
manuscript down, and began to read a lecture 
with the greatest fire and rapidity. Two hear- 
ers came in after him, but as neither one took 
down notes in the universal manner of German 
students, I knew that they were casual listeners 
like myself. And thus he will go on year after 



year till at length it may be the long practiced 
patience will have its reward, the lecture-room 
will begin to fill, the lecturer will be promoted 
to a professorship, and the honors which the 
world gives to a Neander, an Ewald, a Ritter, a 
Dove, an Encke, a Ranke, and a Rothe may be 

To secure this result Barth did not wait, but 
turned his back upon the lecture-room and chose 
the tent, the privations, and the honor of an 
African explorer. 

Yet the great disappointments which embit- 
tered his career were not all past even then. 
Not to dwell on the trials to which, like Living- 
stone and all great explorers, he was exposed 
while in the heart of Africa, there have been 
some within the last few years which would have 
pained a heart less sensitive than his. Coming 
home and publishing his great record of adven- 
ture and of discovery, he was not at once in- 
vited to take any important post, and when I 
met him in the winter of 1859-60 the future of 
his life was all uncertain. It was not till 1862 
that two calls reached him which were sufficient- 
ly important to merit his serious consideration, 
one of them to the University of Jena, the other 
to become an Extraordinary Professor in that 
of Berlin. The latter was naturally more to his 
taste, since he enjoyed living in the Prussian 
capital, and he accepted it and entered anew 
upon those duties from which he once turned 
away for a more attractive field. 

Yet that long period of waiting which suc- 
ceeded the publication of his African travels 
was not adapted to make him contented. Speak- 
ing the English language as perfectly as he did, 
it might be supposed that the country which he 
so faithfully served would have been anxious to 
retain his services and turn them to account ; 
but from England he received little or no dis- 
plays of gratitude beyond the orders and medals 
which awaited him on his return. There was 
indeed no lack of recognition in the most promi- 
nent journals of the heroism which he displayed 
in his African tour, yet of that more satisfactory 
recognition which has followed the services of 
prominent Arctic adventurers, and such men as 
Livingstone, there has been none displayed in 
England toward Bath. The English could not 
forget that he was a German ; and the same 
petty jealousy which has been arrayed against 
the effort to reach the North Pole by way of the 
Spitzbergen seas, because it emanates from Pe- 
termann, a German geographer, always refused 
to Barth the honors justly due him, and even 
down to this moment no scientific or literary 
journal of Great Britain has done more than to 
casually mention the fact of his death. 

There was one cause more for the bitterness 
which has clouded Barth within the past few 
years : that was the bad spirit displayed toward 
him by the Anti-Slavery Society of England, 
and the persistent efforts made by its prominent 
members to show that he neglected the great 
object of the African mission. There is little 
doubt that Richardson, the head of the expedi- 

tion until his premature death, was a man not 
scientifically qualified for his task, and not pos- 
sessing that breadth and comprehensiveness of 
mind which were indispensable in one assum- 
ing the responsibility which he took upon him- 
self ; yet he was a philanthropist, and the hope 
of making treaties and opening business rela- 
tions was stimulated most largely in his bosom 
by the expectation that the greatest and noblest 
result of the mission would be the good effect 
which it would have upon the African slave- 
trade. But while it would be doing a grievous 
injustice to the memory of Barth to insinuate 
that he was indifferent to this infamous traffic, 
yet it must be confessed that he was not so de- 
voted to this one side of the mission as to forget 
the scientific objects in view, holding that it 
would be glory enough to open Africa to the 
enterprise and energy of the English nation, so 
that good men, clerg} r men and philanthropists, 
might enter in and turn the benefits of the orig- 
inal discoveries and commercial treaties to re- 
ligious and beneficent uses. And when respect- 
able men opened the fountains of their abuse 
after his return, and accused him of neglecting 
the philanthropic objects of the mission, Barth 
was most deeply wounded, and took no pains 
to conceal how sorely it touched him. When 
he came home to Germany, the aged and vener- 
able Carl Ritter went all the way from Berlin 
to Hamburg to greet him, and to escort him to 
the Prussian capital. The Royal Geographical 
Society received their returning member with 
great respect, and rose as one man when he en- 
tered the hall, while Ritter, the President, tak- 
ing him by the hand, escorted him to the chair, 
and introduced him to the enthusiastic assem- 
bly. But Barth had a burden at his heart which 
he could not shake off. The attacks which had 
been made by the English Anti-Slavery organ, 
seconded as they had been by those of some of 
the minor ecclesiastical journals, that his mis- 
sion had not been devoted to religious and phil- 
anthropic objects, pained him so deeply that the 
presentation of the Order of the Bath could not 
compensate for the wound. Tears filled his 
eyes as soon as he commenced speaking, and 
instead of relating what he had done, what he 
had seen, and how thrilled he was to be received 
like a returning prince and conqueror, he told 
the Society of the burden which oppressed him, 
and took away the joy of the hour. 

Barth undoubtedly overrated the importance 
of these attacks. He ascribed them to men of 
more influence than was just ; he supposed that 
they would injure his good name in England to 
an extent which was altogether impossible for 
them to do. Nor did he ever get over the 
wound. England became a different country, 
and the English a different people ; and the bit- 
terness thus engendered remained with him down 
to the day of his death. 

It would not be right to omit briefly adverting 
to the fact that, in spite of his great learning, 
his ambition, and his achievements, he felt deep- 
ly pained at his exclusion from the Berlin 



Academy of Sciences. This is indeed a bodj 
of men "of the greatest eminence, but there are 
few in it who have done more, or who are known 
better, than was Henry Barth. Vet Bach are 
the jealousies of that body, such the petty little- 
nesses which can creep in even under the shel- 
ter of so august a name as Science, that the 
philologist and discoverer was never admitted a 
member. Carlyle mocks in his bitterest rein 
at the old drunken fool Guudling, one of the 
first presidents, if not the very first, of this Ber- 
lin Academy ; but the folly of excluding such a 
man as Barth from its lists would ieen to in- 
dicate that its age of stupid self-complacent folly 
is not wholly gone by. I know thai the mem- 
bers have a reason of ostensible validity which 
they assign for his exclusion : they a— crt tint 
there have been few vacan ics in tin- cla>-e- !•• 
which his peculiar departments of knowledge 
would have entitled him to be admitted. \< : 
Barth saw no good cause for this exclusion, ami 
felt deeply pained at the D . ' t. 

There is no doubt that all these things I u 
their mark on the character of this scn-iine ex- 
plorer; and that most of those who DBAS in i 
tact with him in hi- later years did ii"t \. ■ 
that his growing re-ervc, an 1 - 
of men and motives, had so painful an <■! 
and history. That in some thing- he wa* m«»«.t 
unjustly judged can be strongly a--- rte I h\ those 
who, like Dove the meteorologist, Bhreobsrgl 
the microscopist, I'ctcrmunn and Ivmer the 
geographers. sto..d nearest to him and knew 
him best. One of the la-t protracted rvi. 
dons which he had in hi- life wa» with Mr. 
Wright, our Minister at Berlin. The imjirss*! 
sion which was made |»y the iutcniew M t'.e 
min 1 of Mr. Wright was that he was a fiauk. 
OjHMi, communicative man. 

The last time when he apj»earcd in general 
society was at a gathering of Americans at the ' 
man-ion of our Minister. He was engaged in 
conversation throughout the whole evening; 
and none who saw him then and there, ju>t , K 
week before he died, can fail to recall the 
friendliness of his demeanor, the cordiality of I 
his expression, and the pleasure which he t«»ok 
in the society of the Americans j r •-. nt. Then 
it was that Barth appeared as he truly was, reti- 
cent and introspective, indeed; but not e ll. 
suspicious, and devoured with that eon-uming 
sense of self-importance which is ihc too fre- 
quent attribute of eminent Genua:)-. A man 
never married, and living cither in his librarv 
or in the tent, he was. indeed, of few word- and 
of little fondness for general societv ; but that 
he was naturally sour, harsh, and suspicious, 
can be confidently denied by all who knew him. 

I said above that he was accused by some of , 
the EngKsft ecclesiastical journals of negjtof ting 
the spiritual welfare of the African-, and the 
inference might be made that Barth was an 
indifferent Christian: that in him pietv was 
entirely overshadowed by his love of science. 
But this was by no means the case. It is true 
that he, like many of his countrymen, talked 

little of an experimental knowledge of Cliri-- 
tianity, and that, in the regular attendance at 
church, and the explicit advo *c\ « f eccloia.-- 
tical organizations, re little resemblance to 

Bitter and Stcflens ; yet his adherence to the re- 
ligion into which he was Imputed was by no 
means dead end meaningless. An anecdote, 
which i- told > ■:" him .1- he wa- entering the 
kingdom of Ar, south of the Sahara, illu>tiat« - 
I ; \ the strength and tenacity of his re- 

ligion* convictions, and manifests the noble.- 1 
marts r spirit. Nothing in history is finer. 
The two great Herman travel* r- • t" the tir-t of 
this century, Burckhardt and Scetzcn, when 
thev were pa--ing through tun \plored M' hum- 
med. in land*, adopted not only Oriental habits 
and dre»S and names, but feigned thcinschcs 
M si. i im. 1 . \;- : i. ii< •■ tin »e (wo men 
was m«»st amusing, the shifts to which, like the 
Kuglish Burton of our own time, tin \ were put 
were such as to call out their whole courage, 
presence of mind, and wit; but there is some- 
thing in lUrth's disdainful refusal to pretend to 
wear another faith than his own which awakens 
our highest rc«j4<ct. He did. indeed, adopt a 
name which would lie intelligible to the African 
Mohammedans, and termed himself AUiJ A,, 
rim, "The Son of the Mint Merciful ;" but fui. 
thcr than this ho would not go. Arriving at 

sisting of Richardson, Barth, and < herweg. with 
their attendants, were surrounded by the per* 

iMtrageness, but Mohammedan by religious pro- 
fession. They demanded that the Kurn|«ati* 
should adopt their own faith. They were nu- 
merous and well-armed, resolute and over- 
bearing; but their thrrat% warnings, rca*on- 
ings were all in vain. The Englishman and 
the two (fertiian* were alike uiiwillini* to i ur- 

faith. It ha*, of course, a solemn time with 
the three men. for they had little reason to »up- 
|«»m« that their lirea would be spared. Barth 
wrote in a letter shortly after: "With the ex- 
alting consciousness of acting worthily of our 
religion and our country, we awaited the fate 
that was impending over us. It was an im- 
pressive, solemn moment. We had one more 
discussion regarding the theological |iuinis at 
which we were mo»t at issue, but it was all in 
vain ; and when the fanatic old leader of the 
party which had surrounded us had decided that 
as Christians we deserved to die, I stripped oil" a 
part of my clothing and told him to give mc the 
lir-t blow if he dared to ri*k the con-eiiin-m • - 

The heroism of the act saved the live* of the 
whole company. But who can read such an 
incident as this and not respect the firm, manly 
piety, the un-haken Christian faith, which pre- 
ferred death to the nominal acceptance of a half 
heathen creed? This alone were enough to 
place the name of Barth on the list of noble 
heroes. Many a man will do what he did out 
of a desire to save the lives of near friends. 




Some might do it out of a craving for posthu- 
mous glory. But I think that the number is 
not great who would have been willing to die 
rathe'r than to counterfeit for a short time a 
false religious faith. But deceit, intrigue, false 
dealing, formed no part of the character of Barth. 
He could be curt and rough enough on occasion ; 
but he could not find it in his heart to act a 

It is impossible to pass over the deeds of 
Barth in writing a sketch of the man and his 
career. Nor does the fact that the three bulky 
volumes of his work have passed into all the 
leading libraries of the United States, and have 
found their thousands and perhaps their ten 
thousands of readers, make such a work one of 
supererogation. It is now many years since 
those volumes were published, and the record 
of his adventurous travels may have faded a 
little with the lapse of time. But of course 
little can be done here but to give the briefest 
outline of his course, and to indicate in few 
words the value of his discoveries. In doing 
this I must not fail to acknowledge my great 
obligations to my friend, Professor Koner, the 
intimate companion of Barth, and the associate 
editor with him of the Zeitschrift der Allyemeinen 

The working life of Barth divides itself into 
three great sections, entirely distinct from each 
other, and yet connected by a bond which it is 
not difficult to trace. He lived long enough 
to complete two fondly -cherished hopes ; and 
though the last work to which he laid his hand 
is left unfinished, yet it is so far advanced as to 
be of real service to the world. The goal of 
his youthful ambition was to make an exhaust- 
ive scientific tour around the Mediterranean 
Sea — the mother, as he thought, of all civiliza- 
tion. The hope of doing this was conceived by 
him during a journey to Italy while he was a 
student at the University of Berlin, and when 
he was twenty-one years of age. This was des- 
tined to be but partly accomplished when the pro- 
posed English expedition called him away, and 
he entered with the greatest alacrity and zeal 
upon the project of exploring Northern and 
Northern Central Africa. This work was tri- 
umphantly carried through ; it was one of the 
few expeditions which have entirely satisfied the 
hopes of those who have attempted them. 

Returning to Berlin he began to take up the 
dropped stitches of the past, and to go on year 
by year with his exploration of the Mediter- 
ranean Basin — a task which he only completed 
in 1864, about a year before his death. Be- 
sides this, he was in his later years devoting 
himself to the preparation of a Comparative 
Grammar of eight of the African languages, the 
result of his five years' experience in the heart 
of that continent. Of that work two volumes 
have been already issued by the well-known geo- 
graphical publishing house of Justus Perthes at 
Gotha; and a third volume was passing through 
the press at the time of his death. Though to 
a certain extent incomplete, yet it is so far a 

perfected work as to be of great service to those 
who may have occasion to open the country 
explored by Barth and bring out its commercial 
relations with Europe ; and we have great rea- 
son to be thankful that, instead of leaving it in a 
heterogeneous state, unintelligible to any one 
but himself, and utterly useless, therefore, in the 
event of his death, he worked it out clearly as 
far as he went, and left a large portion of it in 
a perfected state. Although I do not know just 
how complete he regarded it at the time of his 
death, yet I am sure that it was not left in the 
unfinished condition in which Buckle left the 
History of English Civilization, and Robinson 
his last work on the Holy Land, and that the 
disappointed hopes with which they had to close 
their works and leave us, could not have been 
shared by Barth. Regarding the value of the 
last work of his life philologists, and those who 
may need to use it for practical purposes, are 
best competent to decide. But the eminent 
philological talents of Barth, and the unexam- 
pled opportunities which he had of acquiring 
the dialects of Northern Africa, make it certain 
that it will in coming years be regarded as of 
the utmost value. 

And here I can not refrain from alluding to 
his singular facility in learning languages. In 
addition to the African tongues, he had so inti- 
mate a knowledge of Greek and Latin that he 
might easily have taken the post of a professor 
in that department alone. Under Curtius, 
Bockh, and Grimm he devoted the utmost at- 
tention to philology while a student in the Uni- 
versity ; and the reports which he took down, 
German-student fashion, of the lectures which 
he heard, are the most thoroughly worked out 
of any that I have ever seen. The students al- 
ways leave a broad margin at the side of the 
sheet for the reception of later notes and the re- 
sults of private studies ; but it is no unfrequent 
thing to find that margin an unbroken blank. 
Aside from the exquisite neatness of Barth's re- 
ports (all now existing and in the possession of 
his friends) the margin exhibits such conscien- 
tious and extended later study, as to make it 
plain that his was a most industrious University 
career. Only two great departments of study 
engrossed him — philology and geography. He 
paid some attention to the modern languages, 
particularly English ; and subsequently attained 
remarkable proficiency in our tongue. Indeed 
it may be remarked here as appropriately as 
any where, that he wrote his Travels not only in 
German but in English ; and no one who has 
read his volumes in our own tongue would sup- 
pose that they were written by one who labored 
under the great disadvantage of writing in a 
language to which he was not born. It is true 
he has not a lively, chatty, imaginative pen ; 
but he equally lacked this when he was writing 
German, and his style is no more dry in the 
English edition than when he was writing in his 
mother tongue. Later he acquired the Arabic, 
not only as it is spoken in Syria but in Africa; 
and the mastery which he gained over it was 



such as to make his decisions regarding the or- 
thography of Eastern names of much value. In- 
deed the philological talents of Barth were so re- 
markable that, had he never been a traveler and 
a geographer, he would have risen to a very dis- 
tinguished place among the students of lan- 
guage. No one could hear him speak English 
and not be convinced that the perfect manner 
in which he expressed himself must be the in- 
dex of an ease and capability in overcoming the 
great obstacles which a foreign language pre- 
sents, such as hardly a contemporary profc^or 
in the University of Berlin had in BO high ■ 
measure as himself. Ritter, whose library was 
more than half of English works, and whose 
connection with English geographers and trav- 
elers was most intimate, spoke English rttj Im- 
perfectly ; and even William Grimm, one of the 
first philologists of his day. and the conjoint 
author, with his brother, of the most rial, 
dictionary ever prepare*! of any language. \\a« 
entirely unable to >]-« ak an English senti 
Professor Neumann, the autlior of the German 
History of the United States, sjn-aks with a 
marked accent and with a certain 
of words; Dr. Pert z, the Curator of the Rojll 
Library, author of the eclchra! ed Lift oi >tein, 
and husband successively of an American and 
an English lady, does n >t speak our language 
with the fluency with which Barth found bin 
way through those numerous idioms whic h dis- 
tinguish our speech. Thii great proAciaDCj can 
not be accounted for on the ground of inter- 
coursc with the English while in AtVi a. Rii b- 
ardson, the head of the expedition, and tlx- inly 
Englishman, was early rem it h, and 

Berth's only companions subsequently to this 
were Overweg and Yogcl. It can < • U be i \. 
plained on the ground of his distinguished nat- 
ural aptitude, which, if it had been confined to 
the sphere of philology, might n .t have made 
his name known as widely among g- : « r.d n ad 
ers as his travels ha\e clone, but would here 
given him a place among the learn- 1, not sec- 
ond to that of a Max Muller, a Tiachcndorf. or 
a Grimm. 

Let me now call the reader's attention to the 
plan of travel which first fired the ima_ I D ati. m 
of Barth, while he was a student at the I uivers- 
ity, and which was to be carried out, step by 
step, the accomplishment of it taking place but 
a year before his death. 

Very early in his career he became interested, 
through his delight and proficiency in classical 
studies, in the nations which nourished on the 
northern side of the Mediterranean Basin : and 
while making a visit to Italy, he conceived the 
idea of examining in detail the entire coast bad 
of that sea, the mother of all modern civiliza- 
tion. He had sat long enough at the feet of the 
great and noble Ritter to grasp his full and 
weighty teachings respecting the connection of 
the earth, its physical conditions, its contour, 
elevation, distribution of land, w; ter, mount- 
ains, plains, and rivers, with the history and 
progress of the human race. From Ritter he i 

unquestionably caught the conception of the im- 
mense historical value- of the Mediterranean 
Basin, and the hope and purpose which dawned 
upon him on his 1 1 r>t Italian tour may l>e traced 
back to Ri iter's crowded lecture-room in the 
University of Berlin. 

In ■ respects Barth was imperfectly pre- 
pared to enter ujhui travels so important and so 
little akin to a pleasure tour as were his. 1 1 is 
close study of philology had precluded his pal- 
ing attention to other sciences than Compara- 
tive Geography, and in the preface to his great 
work he has the courage and the horn-sty to de- 
clare, " I am no naturalist and no astronomer;" 
and in his la:. .:■-}. t.*>k the greatest pains 
to till up. s.. as he could, the deficiencies of 
his earlier years. Botany and /ooh»g\ always 
lay outside of the circle of his studies, while in 
.- . 1 i Im inn a : l< rnble i roth i< nt. It 
may Im- wondered at in these da\ s that a great 
traveler ami sax ant could In? ignorant of these 
sciences ; but not to s|K«ak of the fact that the 
greatest American geographer . I t!,;> a ■ . I >i . 
Robinson, was no more of a geologist, botanist, 
and zoologist than was Barth. it must )m> re- 
memU-red that what the latter lacked in th«*e 
sciences he made up in other*. He was an eth- 
nographer and a philologist : in these two chai- 
acters he was eminent; ami had b<- l>c«n more 
at liomc in the sciences named iiImivc than he 
nat, it is confidently to Ik? believed that ho 
would never have accompli»hcd the result* in 
ethnography and philology which, after all, were 
his highest achievements. 

I have already alluded to the kindling of his 
desire to explore the Basin of the Mediterranean, 
on the occasion of his first visit to Italy. To 
piepare himself for a work of the magnitude 
which he planned required no little time and 
pains. He could n< i I- content with the shidy 
of the languages and literatures of the two coun- 
tries which had hitherto engrossed his attention, 
Greece and Italy. The Mediterranean had been 
the mother of many forms of civilization ; from 
its shores colonies had radiated, star-like, in all 
direction*, jx-m-trating Afiica ami Asia as well 
as Europe, and making a broad Ik It of culture 
around the blue waters of that boOBttfuJ sea. 
To understand all tie- languages related to a 
colonization so extensive and varied, to come 
into sympathy with all the types of nation*] 
character involved, to understand the law* of 
progress and decline, was a work of time : and 
Bnrth supplemented the eight busy months which 
he spent in Italy by three years just as busy in 
the University of Berlin, prejioring himself for 
the great work of exploration which beckoned 
him on. He took his Doctor's degree in 1844, 
making the subject of his Thesis the Commerce 
of Corinth ; treating the subject with exhaustive 
learning, and producing a paper which a compe- 
tent judge has declared worthy to be mentioned 
in connection with Heeren's great work on the 
politics, commerce, and business of the ancient 

He commenced bis journey in January, 1845, 




making London his first goal, where he spent 
two months in studying the monuments of an- 
cient art stored in the British Museum, and in 
acquiring the elements of Arabic. In England 
he had the good sense to provide himself with 
letters of introduction to most of the English 
consuls resident on the shores of the Mediter- 
ranean, and at a later period he often had oc- 
casion to reap the benefit of his great precau- 
tion. He then passed rapidly southward, visit- 
ing Paris, the Rhone valley with its traces of 
Roman civilization, crossed the Pyrenees, spent 
a month in Madrid, examined the ruined frag- 
ments of Arabic culture in Southern Spain, and 
reached Gibraltar, where his true path of dis- 
covery began. He touched the African coast 
at Tangiers, and was able to discern the traces 
of the now fallen Moorish cities of Asila and 
El Arish, together with those of the Carthagin- 
ian colony of Lix. The suspiciousness of the 
natives prevented all attempts to penetrate into 
the interior, however ; and after trying all means 
to examine the Roman and Punic remains along 
the coast eastward, he was compelled to retrace 
his steps to Tangiers, recross the strait, to sail 
from Alicante in Spain to Algiers, and to make 
a fresh start. Yet he had seen enough of Mo- 
rocco to become familiar with its physical feat- 
ures, the character of its population, and the 
general type of the archaeological remains. 

Algeria was a little more accessible than Mo- 
rocco, and Barth, with his natural energy and 
fearlessness, made the best use of every oppor- 
tunity. To have penetrated far inland would 
have been to throw his life away, for although 
the French had had nominal possession of the 
country for fifteen years, yet it was only the 
coast which was quiet and secure. Barth could 
not leave the immediate neighborhood of the 
sea, but went eastward as far as the Tunisian 
frontier and westward as far as Oran, examin- 
ing among other remains the extensive ruins 
of Tipasa, the burial-place of the Mauritanian 
kings. He made excursions just as far inland 
as was safe, or indeed further, if the truth be 
told, visiting Philippeville, Constantine, and 
Gelma, and 'reaching the sea again at Bona, 
where he took a steamer for Tunis. 

In this state he had less difficulties to con- 
tend with, and made a thorough exploration of 
the country. He first visited the remains of 
Carthage and Utica, which had been brought to 
the light of the civilized world only twelve years 
before by the Danish consul Falbe. He then 
explored almost every spot of antiquarian in- 
terest in the country, bringing to light a mass 
of information regarding ancient sites, which, if 
not of so thrilling moment as the discovery of 
Carthage and Utica, were by no means insignifi- 
cant. No dangers of great magnitude had to 
be encountered; and the Tunisian explorations 
which he made are among the most complete 
of his whole journey. He then crossed to Malta, 
and spent three weeks on the island, returning 
then to Tunis once more, and continuing his 
successful explorations there. It was there that 

he heard a negro drop the words, "If it please 
God, you shall some day visit Kano." They 
made a deep impression on him at the time ; 
and although crowded out of his mind by sub- 
sequent events, they were not forgotten. Thev 
followed him, and rung in his ear till, in the 
course of years, he began to make his prepara- 
tions to reach that far-distant African town, and 
fulfill the great mission of his life. 

Barth wished to go westward, to pass the 
Tunis frontier, and to visit the fruitful and well- 
watered Belad el Jerid, but the inhospitable 
character of the natives compelled him to aban- 
don this project, and to pursue his course east- 
ward. Following the coast of the Minor Syrtis, 
and making such stay upon the route as enabled 
him to examine all places of antiquarian inter- 
est, he at length reached Tripoli, and tarried 
there for a week. Here he prepared himself for 
a hazardous tour, yet he did not estimate suffi- 
ciently, as the sequel proved, the perils lying in 
the way. The route east of Tripoli was by no 
means of that savage, repulsive character which 
it is represented by the ancient writers. A shad- 
ow has rested upon the Magna and Minor Syr- 
tis since the days of the Roman power, and it 
might well appall as brave a heart as that of 
Barth to face their dangers and their difficulties. 
Yet its natural character he did not find so 
markedly in contrast with the other districts 
which he had traversed, and he has strong words 
to bestow on the "lying poets" who have given 
the place its evil name. His journey over the 
Syrtis, and then through Cyrenaica, was one of 
the greatest archasological interest to him. Not 
to speak of Msarata, Kinyps, Ben-Ghazi, the 
ruins of Tancheira, Ptolemais, Barca, and Cy- 
rene were places which had an indescribable at- 
traction to him, and to them he devoted loving 
and patient attention. 

His arrival at the extreme eastern portion 
of the Marmorica, and at the slope of the high 
plateau which to the ancient world was the nat- 
ural barrier between Libya and Asia, was char- 
acterized by an incident which changed all his 
plans, and cost him a large portion of the hard- 
won earnings of eleven such months as he had 
spent. It was on the 7th of June, 1846, that, 
as he was lying exhausted in his tent, he was 
surrounded by a horde of the ruffianly Bedouins 
of that region, and in the scuffle that ensued he 
was wounded in the thigh. Victorious in the 
first attack, and able to continue his march, he 
evaded for some time the balls which were shot 
at him from the covert ; but in a second attack 
he was rendered senseless by the blows of two 
stones which struck him on the head. While 
he lay in this condition the wretches who had 
assailed him rifled him of all his valuables and 
left him in the wilderness, destitute of water 
and of food. So complete was their spoliation 
of his effects that they took away even his books, 
papers, and drawings ; and almost the only ar- 
ticle which was left was the clothing which he 
wore and his Herodotus, the faithful companion 
of all his subsequent travels. I have seen this 



volume. It is not much soiled for a buuk which 
has passed around the Mediterranean, and spent 
five years of camp service in the heart of Africa. 
On the blank leaf he has written with his own 
hand in German: "This copy of Herodotus 
has accompanied me in all my earlier as well 
as in my later travels, having been left when 
I was robbed in Northern Africa, and having 
made with me my entire second tour. On this 
account, soiled as it is, it has its value to IB 
I quote the inscription from memory, but its 
purport is as above. 

This was the real end of the journey. Ac - 
companied by a friendly Arab he was at length 
able to reach Alexandria, having lost aim- M 
every thing which he had brought attOg wile 
him. Happily his very retentive memory NO i 
him in good stead ; and the full letters which he 
had written to his friends, and especially to ( 
tain Schubert of Dresden, his brother-in-law. 
supplied the rest, and furnished him with the 
material of his first work, Wumlemnrjtn dtm-h 
die Kiistcidundcr drs Mitl< Immes (Wanderings 
through the Countries bordei in,,' mi th" Mediter- 
ranean). The book is not a readable one. 
The accumulation of material in i: is -> ;-i .ir. 
and the lack of that point and vivacity whieli 
often make scientific travels interesting, has 
predoded the 1000088 of the work, an I it has 
had no general acceptance even in Germany. 
Rarth was as unlike as po-sil.le in lieuring and 
look to those men of his country whom we gen- 
erally have in mind when we sjieak of "i. 

man professors;*' but his 1 ks do HOC seem 

like those which would naturally QQienote from 
the English-looking, stirring, vigorous man who 

is so well remembered in Berlin. 

Replenished by his father, a wealthy trades- 
man of Hamburg, with ample means he again 
set out anew, taking up the thread of his route 
where he dropped it, at Alexandria. His first 
stay was at Cairo. Thence he ascended the 
Nile to Assuan, whence he turned to the east 
and visited the ruins of Berenice, on the Red 
Sea, and the emerald initio el KoMOT. He 
crossed the Gulf of Suez, and touched the soil 
of that peninsula so memorable for its connec- 
tion with the children of Israel, although the 
harbor of Tor which he vi.-ited lay iWlhflooi 
outside of the line of their wanderings. Thence 
he returned to Cairo, and then struck acWQi the 
desert to Gaza, where he spent an entire month, 
studying the place with a critical care which 
had never been bestowed on it before, and prac- 
ticing that dialect of the Arabic which he would 
be compelled to speak in Palestine. He then 
passed through many of the least explored val- 
leys of the Holy Land, oftentimes facing dan- 
gers which Robinson did not Wish to encounter. 
His most elaborate explorations were on the 
sea-coast, for he did not lose sight of the great 
goal of his travels, the investigation of the 
shores of the Mediterranean. The cities which 
had been held by the Philistines and the Phoe- 
nicians were, of course, full of interest to him ; 
and although he was compelled to glean in the 

field which BoMnOOa had can-fully and almost 
exhaustively explored before him. yet the pa Ml 
which he noted, the corrections which he made, 
and the observations which he recorded, have 
a value which those can l>est estimate who have 
made that country the subject of special study. 
The quotations from Ha nil's unpublished diary, 
which will l»e given in a few months to the 
American reader in the Knglish edition of Kit- 
ter's Palestine, will famish convincing e\ idem e 
of the thoroughness with which the accomplished 
and restless traveler studied w hatever came with- 
in the range of his observation. 

The -am" spirit of M-ientitic cx| loration with 
which he investigated Palestine he dexoted to 
the ruins of Cilicia, the Man I of Cyprus, and 
indeed the win le •.oiiti.ern coast i f Am.i Minor. 
Af:.r spending a short time in Smyrna to re- 
fresh himself, he passed northward through 
Lydia, the Trojan Plain, M\>ia, and Ruhvniu 
•. . ( nstantinople, w h in e he tcl urned t • I lam- 
burg by way of Athens and Mycena\ after an 
a'-, i. • ■ f tl.r e \. .irs. his . institution sin ngth- 
encU by exercise and c\p Mirv. and with |t«r- 
haps the richest and most varied ex|>cricnccB 
that have been acquired by any traveler while 
engaged in a Miigle journey. 

I ! had in a eti Lain manner ivcomplished 
what he pro|io*cd at the outset ; thnt is, ho had 
en<"inpa«sed ih • entire Me !;?< rranean Ra-in, 
and was nblo to mentally review it in it* whole- 
ne,-. It in true there were many deficiencies 
to be supplied Udoro lie could Iks Raid to have 
thoroughly completed bin Investigations ; and ho 
continued his journeys through Spain, Italy, 
Tutkev, and bio'ir, down to the \er\ vear i f 
his death, although tho distinct work which he 
prop- I 1:1 his youth was louiph'tcd 111 lht)4. 
The last of his journevs was during tho summer 
of 1 >•'«."». It was made m Albania, and the ac- 
count of it was published in the tirorfrii/Jiirat, of which he was an a-s.ieiatc editor, ill 
the very month in which he di - I. 

Then followed tho year and a half which ho 
sjient in writing out the fust volume of his trav- 
els, and in delivering those discouraging lec- 
tures in the I'niversity of Herliu to which refer- 
encc has already been made. Restless, morti- 
fied, and ambitious, he U-gan to look out on th • 
world once more for a fresh field of exploration. 
The opportunity which he sought came sooner 
than he expected, and in a quarter toward w hich 
he would not naturally have looked. In 1-1^ 
James Richardson, who had already traveled 
considerably in Northern Africa, laid before the 
English Government the proposition that an 
expedition be formed for the purpose of j»cne- 
trating Central Africa as far as the kingdom 
of Botuon, and having as its double mhwiofl 
the abolishment of the slave t rathe in that re- 
gion and the opening of the district to com- 
merce. The plan was approved, and Richardson 
was intrusted with the general control of mch 
j an expedition. Through the influence of the 
[ illustrious Bunsen, then the Prussian Mir.: - - 
, to England, and of my distinguished friend, In* 




geographer Petermann, then residing in Lon- 
don, it was thought advisable, on the part of the 
English Government, to secure the services of a 
German scholar to accompany the expedition, 
and, at the suggestion of Carl Ritter, Barth was 
selected for this important post ; and a more joy- 
ful welcome was perhaps never received than 
that which the young Doctor gave to the invita- 
tion. He had always been a great admirer of 
England, and to enlist in her service was scarce- 
ly less agreeable than it would have been to 
have been employed by Prussia ; and this can 
be said with the more assurance, in consideration 
of the fact that, although a German, he was not 
a Prussian by birth, but a citizen of the free 
city of Hamburg. Yet Barth declined the flat- 
tering invitation ; not assuredly out of timidity, 
or a love of home, or ease, or a disinclination 
to face the thousand difficulties which beset an 
explorer. His only motive was the filial defer- 
ence he owed to his father, who strongly opposed 
his son's going forth upon so perilous a service, 
and Dr. Overweg was selected to take his place 
and intrusted with the money given by the Ber- 
lin Geographical Society. Yet the English Gov- 
ernment was so impressed with the peculiar 
value of Barth's services >that he was unable to 
procure his release on the ground of his father's 
disinclination to part with an only son. This 
being the case, and the son having accepted the 
post before consulting his father, and without a 
suspicion that the proposition would encounter 
opposition, nothing remained but for him to go. 

The whole history of that African expedition 
has been given so fully to the world that it is 
unnecessary to recount it in detail. It is safe 
to say that every one who may read this sketch 
has acquired his interest in Barth from the pages 
of that great five-volumed work* in which the 
explorer had recounted, his experiences with a 
too great minuteness indeed, and in a dry, nerve- 
less manner, and yet not without finding thou- 
sands of readers. There is something so fasci- 
nating about the interior of that great unexplored 
Africa, that even the poorest record of travels 
there is not overlooked by the busy world. And 
so Barth's work, though over-minute and tedi- 
ous, has been so far read that the character of 
its author has been to a certain extent under- 
stood and prized. 

It would be an insult to the reader's intelli- 
gence to do more than to give the slightest out- 
line of his course. It is to be regretted that 
there was not in England and the United States 
an epitomized edition, similar to that published 
by Justus Perthes of Gotha, in two volumes, 
and like the larger one in five from Barth's own 

After a long and tedious preparation, Richard- 
son, Barth, and Overweg met in Tropoli on the 

* Republished, complete in three volumes, by Harper 
and Brothers. — Travels and Discoveries in North and Cen- 
tral Africa; being a Journal of an Expedition under- 
taken tinder the Auspices of II. B. M.'s Government, in 
the years 1840-1855. By Henry Barth, Fellow of the 
Royal Geographical and Asiatic Societies, etc., etc With 
Map and numerous Illustrations. 

18th of January, 1850. There being still de- 
lays, Barth, always restless if there was any ex- 
ploration to be effected, pushed out into the 
neighboring country, visiting all the important 
Punic and Roman remains within a circuit of 
three or four hundred miles, and so consuming 
the time up to the 24th of March. The expedi- 
tion struck across the upland of Sahara, and it 
is to their report that we owe our first accurate 
and scientifically valuable report of the physical 
character of that dreaded region. Like the 
Syrtis on the coast, Barth found that it was far 
more dreadful in anticipation than in reality ; 
and often afterward, when exposed to the fever 
climate of the south, and debilitated by the 
sultry air, he turned longing thoughts toward 
the breezy, dry, salubrious upland, of Sahara. 
The type of human character he found much 
higher there than in the less elevated tropical 
district to which he subsequently came, and of 
the whole of the long journey, that which was 
taken through the ravines and over the crags of 
the " desert" was the most stimulating and en- 

It was at the arrival near the southern bound- 
ary of Sahara that Barth and his companions 
encountered that determined persistency on the 
part of the fanatic Mohammedans which has 
been spoken of on another page, and which 
seems to have almost led to the destruction of 
the whole party. They had approached the 
kingdom of Ar, but it was only by the payment 
of two hundred dollars that they were allowed 
to enter it. On the 3d of September, 1850, they 
set foot in Tintelust, the capital, and here the 
first commercial treaty made by the expedition 
was negotiated between the travelers, acting in 
the name of Great Britain and the Sultan of the 
country. During the stay which was made 
there, Barth, unwilling to be idle, pressed alone 
southward to Agades, and, after encountering no 
inconsiderable perils, succeeded in making a 
treaty with the Governor of this important com- 
mercial centre. He spent four weeks at Agades 
and then returned to Tintelust, enriched with 
knowledge of the country and the people, and 
having accomplished in a perfectly successful 
manner one of the great objects of the expedi- 

Leaving the Ar district the travelers prepared 
to enter the lowland, region, the Soudan as the 
German geographers call it, and here the party 
divided, each of the three taking a different 
route. It is not clear, either from the. diary of 
Richardson or from the work of Barth, why this 
step was taken ; but it is probable that no single 
motive prompted it, and that it was brought 
about partly by the real want of unity in the 
counsels of Richardson and Barth, partly through 
a desire to accomplish more than could be done 
were a single route taken, and partly from the 
fact that singly they could travel at less expense, 
because more modestly and unpretentiously, than 
in a party. The last motive must have had 
considerable weight, for the funds were already 
beginning to be short. In the division of routes 



Barth was to go by way of Katsena to Kano, 
Overweg to Geber and Maradi, and Richardson 
to Sindcr. Tlie rendezvous was to be in Ku- 
kana. Richardson, however, did not live to 
reach the place of meeting, and the three were 
reduced to two, the German friends. 

It were too long a tale to follow Barth through 
the course of his wanderings, to see him in his 
rags, and destitute of money, enter Kano, the 
object of those long hopes which were awakened 
years before by that Tunisian negro, who, on the 
occasion of his first visit to the African - >\\, 
whispered in his car, "If God will, thou shah 
one day see Kano." The reader of li.irt li s vol- 
umes needs only to be reminded of the loan of 
twenty dollars on the part of the Governor, of 
his successful journey onward to Kukana, tie- 
place designated by the British Government as 
the goal of the expedition, Of his cntr.iiK-e into 
Bornou, his protracted travels and investigation* 
in that kingdom, of his extreme need of money 
and his consequent want. <>f his examination of 
Lake Tsad and the Adamawa district at the 

It was while Overweg was exploring the lake 
in detail that Barth made the discovery in tho 
Adamawa country which was the most notable 
event of the whole expedition. On the l s :h 
of June, 1S."»1, he «1 :i- I the upper con mo of 
the Benuc, tho stream which connect* the heart 
of Africa with the Atlantic. The value of that 
discovery may not be known in our day, but 
the time will come when the words with which 
Btftfa alludes to his first view of the rirer will 
be recognized as no fanatic'* dream, but as 
those of a man who distinctly discerned the fu- 
ture. "Whoever," he writes, "ha* surren- 
dered himself to the fancies of youth, and has 
gone forth in the pursuit of a golden hope, will 
easily be able to conceive of tho feelings with 
which I looked over the field within my view. 
I was dumb with amazement. There, fresh ' 
from the creative hand of (khI, was a tract 
which should one day be alive with the indus- 
tries of races of men a* yet unknown there: a 
gateway was opened before me, through which 
the sturdy peoples of northern clime* should 
enter and develop the riehes of that fertile re* 
gion. Little did I think how soon the advance- 
vessel, bearing that northern civilization, would 
anchor but a little way from the place w i. re 1 
then was.'* Yet even now, although the Benuc 
has been successfully navigated to its u: \*r wa- 
ters, we are far from realizing the value of the 
great discovery of Barth. 

From that point he went southward as far as 
Yola, and thence turned back to Kukana, where 
he was obliged to tarry for a considerable tint B 
for the restoration of his health, which h 
fered much under the trying influence! of the 
African climate. He joined Overweg. and made 
one journey more, traversing this time the hith- 
erto unexplored kingdom of Bagirmi, at the 
capital of which, Masenna, he received a mes- 
sage from the English Government, placing him 
at the head of the expedition, and directing him 

to return by way of Timbuctoo. The order 
highly welcome to Barth, and he >et out with 
eagerness for the "Queen of the Desert," as 
thai barbaric capital is termed. While with his 
courage ami unextinguished hopefulness he was 
congratulating himself on the honor of Uing »«'• 
leetcd to follow in the footstep* of the heroic 
Mungo Bark, he had to U ar the |«ain of losing 
his friend and com|«inton Overweg. a victim to 
the relentless climate and to long-protracted fa- 
tigue. No one can paint the heaviness of heart 
with which Barth pursued his solitary journey, 
himself no longer strong, nnd liable iodic at tiny 
tune a s litary death. l'u>-ing Sindcr, Kat- 
sena, and Sokoto, he cr I the Niger, and 
then followed the course of that river up to 
Timhueloo. the g al of that stage of hi* jour- 
ney. The story of his nine month*' detention 
in that city, of his imminent perils, and of his 
escape, is too well-known to my readers, and 
it form* a tale, even when told in his cold, dry 
way, «if thrilling interest. To his dying day 
ho never forgot the gratitude which he owed to 

■ I hi. ml ft 


with that of his great patron and friend. Bun- 
sen, hung over his he4to tho last. I need not 
follow him down the Niger again to Sokoto, nnd 
through his homeward course over Kano and 
Kukana, where, at the rcry bet stage of hit 
wanderings and dangrrs, he encountered Vogel, 
who had been sent out to sear, h for him as for a 
h-»t Franklin. The journry northward was tin* 
eventful, and on the 13th of October, he 

»f the jotirnev hai 

ieen well 

i up or Die inenu rtoner in a tew words, 
ere the discovery of the true physical 
■ r of the Sahara; the establishing of the 


Niger is independent of Lake 1 Mid, an I that it 
forms the natural commercial avenue into On- 
tral Africa ; the investigation of the river sys- 
tem of Bagiri and Adamawa, and the explora- 
tion of the Niger between S»koto and Timbuc- 
too. The aggregate length of his journey ings 
was not far from 14,<*>o miles, ami the territory 
opened to the knowledge of the civilized world 
is more than 4,000,000 of square miles in extent. 

The years immediately following Barth's re- 
turn were devoted to the preparation of his vol- 
umes for the press. Then followed a j*-riod of 
quiet study before he was called to any new 
field ; and at length, in 1M>{, he was appointed 
Professor Kxtraordinary of Geography in the 
University of Berlin, in which capacity he la- 
bored down to the day of his death, November 
261 h of last year. 

It is painful to be called upon to record the 
death of one whom we have always associated 
with health, vigor, action. Of the sixty-seven 
travelers who have endeavored, since the year 
1788, to explore the region traversed by Barth, 
he is the only one who has been spared cither a 
death by violence or by fever. How narrow his 



repeated escapes from both forms were the read- 
ers of his volumes know well. Yet he contin- 
ued to the end a hale, vigorous man, and a slight 
form of dyspepsia was the only ailment which 
his African exposures bequeathed to him. An 
attack of this complaint following a hearty din- 
ner, and aggravated by the medical treatment 
which he received, was the immediate cause of 
his death. Notwithstanding the feeling in Ber- 
lin among his friends, in speaking of the ad- 
ministration of six grains of tartar emetic to a 
man suffering with a slight attack of dyspepsia, 
and the complaint made by some that he was 
no less than slaughtered by medical incapacity, 
it should be said, in justice, that Barth, when- 
ever he was slightly ailing, always demanded a 
powerful, active, immediate remedy, and was 
not satisfied with light measures. Even in this 
the natural energy of the man appeared. 

To sum up his character is easy. Though 
reticent, he was not crooked, and his soul was 
clear and simple. He was a modest, resolute, 
straightforward man, a faithful and affectionate 
son, brother, and friend. He was a thorough 
student, and loved knowledge with the true 
German love, for its own sake, and not for the 
sake of what it would, bring him. If he was 
harsh and severe in his words and repellent in 
his manner it was only too natural, as the open- 
ing pages of this article have, I trust, shown ; 
and very seldom did he allow his pen or his 
tongue to run away with his judgment. If a 
false man was to be shown up in his true colors 
none was more willing to do it than Barth, for 
his hatred of intrigue, of cunning, and of syco- 

phancy was strong beyond all expression. He 
was all his life long free from care about money; 
his first journey cost him about 11,000 American 
dollars ; but the sloth, want of ambition, and 
love of ease which often accompany the posses- 
sion of wealth had no part in the character of 
Henry Barth. He had a few friends, and those 
few he loved with pure affection. He was a 
Liberal in politics, and a member of the Lower 
House of the Prussian Parliament. He was a 
friend of America, and with Americans he felt 
himself at home, for he knew that he was loved 
and honored in America. 

The grave has closed over him at the age of 
forty-five years, while he seemed to be in the 
very prime of life. He lived long enough, how- 
ever, to do a great work and to win an enviable 
name. His memory will long survive in the 
hearts of those who knew him best ; and those 
who stood the nearest to him have only words 
of praise. He was not, it is true, one of those 
warm, magnetic souls which enkindle the en- 
thusiasm of thousands ; his was not one of those 
tender spirits which draw men like the love of 
woman ; his was not a fine poetic nature, he 
not even having his full share of the universal, 
overflowing German sentiment ; but he had a 
manly, brave, genuine soul, a heart which craved 
the love of the few who formed the world of his 
affections, a noble heroism in the cause of sci- 
ence and civilization, a lofty, and I venture to 
say a sanctified, ambition. The world is rich- 
er for every man in it whose character has the 
sterling qualities which lay in the soul of Henry 




CHAPTER III.— Continued. 


" TF I had been less anxious the sudden pre- 
JL sentation of Mrs. Oldershaw, in an entire- 
ly new character, might have amused me. But 
I was in no humor for laughing, and (my notes- 
of-hand being all paid) I was under no obliga- 
tion to restrain my natural freedom of speech. 
' Stuff and nonsense !' I said. 'Put your Sun- 
day face in your pocket. I have got some news 
for you since I last wrote from Thorpe- Am- 

" The instant I mentioned 'Thorpe-Ambrose' 
the whites of the old hypocrite's eyes showed 
themselves again, and she flatly refused to hear 
a word more from me on the subject of my pro- 
ceedings in Norfolk. I insisted — but it was 
quite useless. Mother Oldershaw only shook 
her head and groaned, and informed me that 
her connection with the pomps and vanities of 
the world was at an end forever. ' I have been 

born again, Lydia,' said the brazen old wretch, 
wiping her eyes. 'Nothing will induce me to 
return to the subject of that wicked speculation 
of yours on the folly of a rich young man.' 

"After hearing this I should have left her 
on the spot, but for one consideration which de- 
layed me a moment longer. 

"It was easy to see by this time that the 
circumstances (whatever they might have been) 
which had obliged Mother Oldershaw to keep in 
hiding, on the occasion of my former visit to 
London, had been sufficiently serious to force 
her into giving up, or appearing to give up, her 
old business. And it was hardly less plain that 
she had found it to her advantage — every body 
in England finds it to their advantage, in some 
way — to cover the outer side of her character 
carefully with a smooth varnish of Cant. This 
was, however, no business of mine ; and I should 
have made these reflections outside, instead of 
inside the house, if my interests had not been 
involved in putting the sincerity of Mother 
Oldershaw's reformation to the test — so far as it 
affected her past connection with myself. At 



the time when she ha:? fitted mc out for our m. p**r that 

terpfise, I remembered signing a certain husi- an exen 
ness-document which gave her a handsome pe-i "I 

cuniary interest in my succe-s, if I Invamc Mt*. her erei 
Armadale of Thorpe- Ambrose. The chanr 
turning tit is mischievous: morse] of paper m good 

account, in the capacity of a roimh sf nam, «-u as 
too tempting to be reabtsd. 1 asked mv dc\ # out 

friend's permission to say one last word before I joined, * I beg to thank you for showing me your 

left the house. hand.' 

'"As you have no further interest in my "There conll, indeed, l>c no doubt now 

wicked speculation at Thorpe- Ambrose, ' I said, about the object ahc really had in view. She 

; perhaps you will give me back the written pa- would run uo more risks and lend no more 

gned. when roe were not q 
pmplanr person a* vou are now *' 
'he sharoeleaa old hypocrite instantly rhut 
c* and shuddered. 

Does that mean Yea or No ?' I asked. 
On moral and religious grounds, Lydia,' 
Irs. Oldcr&haw, • it means No.' 
On nicked and worldlv grounds,' I re- 



money — she would leave me to win or lose, 
single-handed. If I lost, she would not be 
compromised. If I won, she would produce 
the paper I had signed, and profit by it without 
remorse. In my present situation it was mere 
waste of time and words to prolong the matter 
by any useless recrimination on my side. I put 
the warning away privately in my memory for 
future use, and got up to go. 

" At the moment when I left my chair there 
was a sharp double knock at the street-door. 
Mrs. Oldershaw evidently recognized it. She 
rose in a violent hurry and rang the bell. ' I 
am too unwell to see any body,' she said, when 
the servant appeared. ' Wait a moment, if you 
please,' she added, turning sharply on me, Avhen 
the woman had left us to answer the door. 

"It was small, very small, spitefulness on 
my part, I know — but the satisfaction of thwart- 
ing Mother Jezebel, even in a trifle, was not to 
be resisted. 'I can't wait,' I said; 'you re- 
minded me just now that I ought to be at 
church.' Before she could answer I was out 
of the room. 

" As I put my foot on the first stair the street- 
door was opened, and a man's voice inquired 
whether Mrs. Oldershaw was at home. 

"I instantly recognized the voice. Doctor 
Downward ! 

"The doctor repeated the servant's message 
in a tone which betrayed unmistakable irritation 
at finding himself admitted no farther than the 

" ' Your mistress is not well enough to see 
visitors? Give her that card,' said the doctor, 
'and say I expect her, the next time I call, to 
be well enough to see me.' 

"If his voice had not told me plainly that he 
felt in no friendly mood toward Mrs. Older- 
shaw, I dare say I should have let him go with- 
out claiming his acquaintance. But, as things 
were, I felt an impulse to speak to him or to 
any body who had a grudge against Mother 
Jezebel. There was more of my small spiteful- 
ness in this, I suppose. Any way, I slipped 
down stairs, and, following the doctor out quiet- 
ly, overtook him in the street. 

" I had recognized his voice, and I recognized 
his back as I walked behind him. But when I 
called him by his name, and when he turned 
round with a start and confronted me, I followed 
his example, and started on my side. The doc- 
tor's face was transformed into the face of a per- 
fect stranger! His baldness had hidden itself 
under an artfully grizzled wig. He had allowed 
his whiskers to grow, and had dyed them to 
match his new head of hair. Hideous circular 
spectacles bestrode his nose in place of the neat 
double eye-glass that he used to carry in his 
hand, and a black neckerchief, surmounted by 
immense shirt-collars, appeared as the unworthy 
successor of the clerical white cravat of former 
times. Nothing remained of the man I once 
knew but the comfortable plumpness of his fig- 
ure, and the confidential courtesy and smooth- 
ness of his manner and his voice. 

" 'Charmed to see you again,' said the doc- 
tor, looking about him a little anxiously, and 
producing his card-case in a very precipitate 
manner. ' But my dear Miss Gwilt, permit me 
to rectify a slight mistake on your part. Doc- 
tor Downward of Pimlico is dead and buried ; 
and you will infinitely oblige me if you will 
never, on any consideration, mention him again !' 

"I took the card he offered me, and discov- 
ered that I was now supposed to be speaking to 
' Doctor Le Doux, the Sanatorium, Fairweather 
Vale, Hampstead !' 

" 'You seem to have found it necessary,' I 
said, 'to change a great many things since I 
last saw you? Your name, your residence, 
your personal appearance — ?' 

"'And my branch of practice,' interposed 
the doctor. ' I have purchased of the original 
possessor (a person of feeble enterprise and no 
resources) a name, a diploma, and a partially 
completed sanatorium for the reception of nerv- 
ous invalids. We are open already to the in- 
spection of a few privileged friends — come and 
see us. Are you walking my way ? Pray take 
my arm, and tell me to what happy chance I 
am indebted for the pleasure of seeing you 
again ?' 

"I told him the circumstances exactly as 
they had happened, and I added (with a view 
to making sure of his relations with his former 
ally at Pimlico) that I had been greatly sur- 
prised to hear Mrs. Oldershaw's door shut on 
such an old friend as himself. Cautious as he 
was the doctor's manner of receiving my re- 
mark satisfied me at once that my suspicions 
of an estrangement were well founded. His 
smile vanished, and he settled his hideous spec- 
tacles irritably on the bridge of his nose. 

"'Pardon me if I leave you to draw your 
own conclusions,' he said. ' ' The subject of Mrs. 
Oldershaw is, I regret to say, far from agreeable 
to me under existing circumstances. A busi- 
ness difficulty connected with our late partner- 
ship at Pimlico, entirely without interest for a 
young and brilliant woman like yourself. Tell 
me your news ! Have you left your situation 
at Thorpe-Ambrose? Are you residing in Lon- 
don ? Is there any thing, professional or other- 
wise, that I can do for you ?' 

"That last question was a more important 
one than he supposed. Before I answered it I 
felt the necessity of parting company with him 
and of getting a little time to think. 

" 'You have kindly asked me, doctor, to pay 
you a visit,' I said. 'In your quiet house at 
Hampstead I may possibly have something to 
say to you which I can't say here in this noisy 
street. When are you at home at the Sanato- 
rium ? Should I find you there later in the 

"The doctor assured me that he was then on 
his way back, and begged that I would name 
my own hour. I said, 'Toward this after- 
noon ;' and, pleading an engagement, hailed 
the first omnibus that passed us. 'Don't for- 
get the address,' said the doctor, as he handed 



me in. 'I have got your card,' I answered — 
and so we parted. 

"I returned to the hotel, and went uj» into 
my room and thought over it very anxiously. 

u The serious obstacle of the signature on the 
marriage register still stood in my way a> un- 
manageably as ever. All hope of getting a»>>t- 
ance from Mrs. Oldershaw was at an end. 1 
could only regard her henceforth as an enemy 
hidden in the dark — the enemy, beyond all 
doubt now, who had hail me followed and 
watched when I was last in Lund 1 
other counselor could I turn f«»r the ad\iee 
which my unlucky ignorance of law and busi- 
ness obliged me to seek from some one more 
cxperieneed than myself? Could I to the 
lawyer whom I consulted when I was about to 
marry .Midwinter in my maiden name? Im- 
possible! To say nothing of his odd rftffttWtol 
of me when I had last seen him, the n.h | 
wanted this time related (disguise the fae's as 
I might) to the commission of a 1 7 i 1 -a fraud 
of the sort that no professional man would think 
of assisting if he had a character to I m>. Win 
there any other competent j n I could think 
of? Tliere was one, and one only— the doOtOff 
who had died at 1'imlieo, and had revived 
again at fTimpHoad. 

"I knew him to 1k» entirely without scru- 
ples ; to have the business experienee that I 
wanted myself; And to l>c as cunniju'. an rle\er. 
and as far-seeing a man as could U- found in nil 
London. Beyond this, I had made two import- 
ant discoveries in connection with him that 
morning. In the first place, he waa on bad 
terms with Mrs. Oldershaw — whieh would pro- 
tect me from all danger of the two leaguing to- 
gcthcr against mc if I trusted him. In the 
second place, circumstnm es st 11 Idiged him to 
keep his identity carefully disgui led - w h;< h 
gave me a hold over him in no rcs|«»et inferior 
to any hold that / might give him over mr. In 
every way he was the right man, the only man, 
for my purpose; and yet I hesitated at g. i: 
to him— hesitated for a full hour and m »re, 
without know ing w hy ! 

"It was two o'clock before I finally deci !• I 
on paying the doctor a visit. Having, "after this, 
occupied nearly another hour in settling ear- 
fully beforehand what I should say to him. and 
having determined to a hair's-breadth h-w far 
I should take him into my confidence, I lenl 
for a cab at last, and set oti' toward three in the 
afternoon for Hampstead. 

"I found the Sanatorium with some little 
difficulty. Fairweather Vale proved to be a 
new neighborhood, situated below the high 
ground of Hampstead, on the southern side. 
The day was overcast, and the place looked 
very dreary. We approached it by a new road 
running between trees, which might once have 
been the park-avenue of a country house. At 
the end we came upon a wilderness of open 
ground, with half-finished villas dotted about, 

and a hideous litter of boards, wheel-harrows, 
and building materials of all sorts scattered in 
every direction. At one corner of this scene of 

desolation sto. ! a great oNcijlown dismal house, 
plast< r« i « itli»-< ojoa^l stiu i . , an,; round- 
ed by a naked unfinished garden, without a 
shnib or a flower in it— frightful to behold. On 
the oj»en iron pate that led into this inclosttre 
was a new brass plate, with 'Sanatorium' in- 
scribed on it in gnat black letters. The bell, 
when the cabman rang it, pealed through the 
empty house like a knell; and the pallid with- 
ered old man-servant in black who answered 
the door looked a* if he had stepped up out of 
his grave to perform that service. He let out 
on me a smell of damp plaster and new varnish, 
and he let in with mo a chilling draught of the 
damp Not ember mir. I didn't notice it at the 
time, but writing of it now I remember that I 
shivered as I croaard the ihlMfc U 

M l gave mr name to the acrvant as • Mr*. 
Armadale,' and waa shown into the waiting- 
room. The very fins itself was dtiug of damp 
in the grate. The onlr books on the table were 
the doctors Works, in sober drub colon* | and 
the only object that ornamented the wall* waa 
the foreign Prploi (handsomely framed and 

i«-nt or two tfr 

" I hadn't an idea who ♦•.Mrs, Armadale" 
waa!' he Mid. • Mr dear lady, have changed 
your name Um>? How »lv of too not to ie!l me 
when we met thU morning ! Come into my pri- 
x.itc snug^t-n I mn't think of keeping an old 
and dear friend like you in the patients* wait- 

*' The doctor's private snupgerv wa« at the 
back of the hou*e, looking out on fields and trees 
d Him.-. | but not vet drtlnitnl I v tl I II 
Horrible objects in bnus and leather and g.ln**i 

writhing in agonica of pain, filled up one end of 
the room. A great hook-case with glass doors 
extended over the whole of the opposite wall, 
and exhibited on ita shelves long rows of glas* 
jars, in which shapeless dead creatures of a dull 
white color floated in yellow liquid. Above the 
lire- place hung a collection of photographic 
portraits of men and women, inclosed in two 
Jrarnes hanging side by side with a space 
Iwtwcen them. The left-hand frame illustrated 
the effects of nervous suffering as seen in the 
face; the right-hand frame exhibited the rav- 
ages of insanity from the same point of view | 
while the *paee between was occupied by an el- 
egantly-illuminated scroll, bearing inscribed on 
it in fanciful ly-shapcd letters the time-honored 
motto, ; Prevention is better than Cure.' 

" 4 Here I am, with my galvanic apparatus, 
and my preserved specimens, and all the rest of 
it, said the doctor, placing me in a chair by the 
fireside. 'And there is my System mutely ad- 
dressing you just above your head, under a'form 



of exposition which I venture to describe as 
frankness itself. This is no mad-house, my 
dear lady. Let other men treat insanity, if 
they like — / stop it ! No patients in this house 
as yet. But we live in an age when nervous 
derangement (parent of insanity) is steadily on 
the increase ; and in due time the sufferers will 
come. I can wait, as Harvey waited, as Jenner 
waited. And now, do put your feet up on the 
fender and tell me about yourself. You are 
married, of course ? And what a pretty name ! 
Accept my best and most heart-felt congratula- 
tions ! You have the two greatest blessings that 
can fall to a woman's lot — the two capital H's, 
as I call them — Husband and Home.' 

"I interrupted the genial flow of the doctor's 
congratulations at the first opportunity. 

" 'I am married; but the circumstances are 
by no means of the ordinary kind,' I said, seri- 
ously. ' My present position includes none of 
the blessings that are usually supposed to fall to 
a woman's lot. I am already in a situation of 
very serious difficulty — and before long I may 
be in a situation of very serious danger as well.' 

"The doctor drew his chair a little nearer to 
me, and fell at once into his old professional 
manner and his old confidential tone. 

" 'If you wish to consult me,' he said, softly, 
'you know that I have kept some dangerous 
secrets in my time, and you also know that I 
possess two valuable qualities as an adviser. I 
am not easily shocked ; and I can be implicitly 

"I hesitated even now at the eleventh hour, 
sitting alone with him in his own room. It 
was so strange to me to be trusting to any body 
but myself! And yet how could I help myself 
in a difficulty which turned on a matter of law ? 

" 'Just as you please, you know,' added the 
doctor. ' I never invite confidences. I merely 
receive them.' 

" There was no help for it ; I had come there 
not to hesitate, but to speak. I risked it and 

"'The matter on which I wish to consult 
you,' I said, '.is not (as you seem to think) 
within your experience as a professional man. 
But I believe you may be of assistance to me, 
if I trust myself to your larger experience as a 
man of the world. I warn you, beforehand, 
that I shall certainly surprise and possibly 
alarm you before I have done.' 

"With that preface I entered on my story, 
telling him what I had settled to tell him — and 
no more. 

" I made no secret, at the outset, of my in- 
tention to personate Armadale's widow ; and I 
mentioned without reserve (knowing that the 
doctor could go to the office and examine the 
will for himself) the handsome income that 
would be settled on me in the event of my suc- 
cess. Some of the circumstances that followed 
next in succession I thought it desirable to alter 
or conceal. I showed him the newspaper ac- 
count of the loss of the yacht — but I said no- 
thing about events at Naples. I informed him 

of the exact similarity of the two names ; leav- 
ing him to imagine that it was accidental. I 
told him, as an important element in the mat- 
ter, that my husband had kept his real name a 
profound secret from every body but myself; 
but (to prevent any communication between 
them) I carefully concealed from the doctor 
what the assumed name under which Midwinter 
had lived all his life really was. I acknowl- 
edged that I had left my husband behind me on 
the Continent ; but when the doctor put the 
question I led him to conclude — I couldn't with 
'all my' resolution tell him positively! — that 
Midwinter knew of the contemplated Fraud, 
and that he was staying away purposely so as 
not to compromise me by his presence. This 
difficulty smoothed over — or, as I feel it now, 
this baseness committed — I reverted to myself, 
and came back again to the truth. One after 
another I mentioned all the circumstances con- 
nected with my private marriage, and with the 
movements, while in London, of Armadale and 
Midwinter, which rendered any discovery of the 
false personation (through the evidence of other 
people) a downright impossibility. ' So much,' 
I said, in conclusion, ' for the object in view. 
The next thing is to tell you plainly of a very 
serious obstacle that stands in my way.' 

"The doctor, who had listened thus far with- 
out interrupting me, begged permission here to 
say a few words on his side before I went on. 

" The ' few words' proved to be all questions 
— clever, reaching, suspicious questions — which 
I was, however, able to answer with little or no 
reserve, for they related, in almost every in- 
stance, to the circumstances under which I had 
been married, and to the chances for and against 
my lawful husband if he chose to assert his claim 
to me at any future time. ' My replies informed 
the doctor, in the first place, that I had so man- 
aged matters in Armadale's house and in the 
neighborhood as to lead to a general impression 
that he intended to marry me; in the second 
place, that my husband's early life had not been 
of a kind to exhibit him favorably in the eyes 
of the world ; in the third place, that we had 
been married without any witnesses present 
who knew us, at a large parish church in which 
two other couples had been married the same 
morning, to say nothing of the dozens on dozens 
of other couples (confusing all remembrance of 
us in the minds of the officiating people) who 
had been married since. When I had put the 
doctor in possession of these facts, and when he 
had further ascertained that Midwinter and I 
had gone abroad among strangers immediately 
after leaving the church, and that the men em- 
ployed on board the yacht in which Armadale 
had sailed from Somersetshire (before my mar- 
riage) were now away in other ships voyaging 
to the other end of the world, his confidence in 
my prospects showed itself plainly in his face. 
' So far as I can see,' he said, 'your husband's 
claim to you — after you have stepped into the 
place of the dead Mr. Armadale's widow — would 
rest on nothing but his own bare assertion. And 


HARPER'S m:w .monthly MAGAZINE. 

If the UtC tin" 

that I think you might safely set at defiance. 
Excuse my apparent distrust of the -ruth-man. 
But there might he a tnwindeiEtandtng betWMI 
you in the future, and it is highly dcsiral k 10 
ascertain heforehand exactly what lie could or 
could not do under those circumstances. And 
now that we have done with the main obstacle 
that / sec in the way of your success, let u> by 
all means come to the obstacle that you see 

"I was willing enough to come to it. The 
tone in which he spoke of Midwinter, though I 
myself was responsihlc for it, jarred on mc hor- 
ribly, and roused for the moment sonic of the 
old folly of feeling which I fancied I had laid 
aside forever. I rushed nt the chance of » hang- 
ing the suhji'ct, and mentioned the discrepancy 
in the register hetween the hand in which Mid- 
winter had signed the name of Allnn Armadale 
and the hand in which Armadale < f Th'Tj- - 
Ambrose had been accustomed to write lis 
name, with an eagerness wlmh it «jmtc divert- 
ed the doctor to see. 

u 'Is that all?' he asked, to my infinite sur- 
prise and relief, when I had d<-n<\ 
lady. j»ray set your mind nt can! 
Mr. Armadale's lawyers want a pi 
marriage they won't pi to the clu 
for it. I can promise you.' 

44 'What!' I exclaimed, in a* 
'do you mean to say that the cntr 
ister is not a proof of »m marriage 1 

44 ' It is a proof,* said the doc to 
have l»een married to somebody 
pr«»(.f that you have been married to Mr. Ar- 
madale of Thor|M»Ambni»c. J.-n k N k«*a or 
Tom Styles (excuse the homrlinei* of the illus- 
tration!) might have pot tbo License and gone 
to the church to be married to you under Mr. 
Armadale's name- and the register (how could 
it do otherwise?) must in that case hate in no. 
ccntly assisted the deception* 1 *ec I surprise 
you. My dear madam, when mmi oi«»ned this 
interesting business you surprised nt— \ mar 
own it ROW—- by lading so much stress on the 
curious similarity between the two names. You 
might have entered on the verv daring and ro- 
mant ic enter]- rise in which jm nrc now en- 
gaged without necessarily marrying your pro- 
cm husband. Any other man would have done 
just a* well, provided he was willing to lake 
Mr. Armadale's name for the purpose.' 

4k 1 felt my temper going at this. ' Any oth- 
er man would not have done just as well/" I re- 
joined instantly. ' But f, ir the similarity of the 
names I should never have thought of the enter- 
prise at all.' 

"The doctor admitted that he had spoken 
too hastily. 4 That personal view of the sub- 
ject had, I confess, escajK-d me,' he said. -How- 
ever, let us get back to the matter in hand. In 
the course of what I may term an adventurous 
medical life I have been brought more than once 
into contact with the gentlemen of the law, and 
have had opportunities of observing their pro- 
ceedings in cases of, let us say, Domestic Juris- 1 

r, 'that f 
Hut it is 

prudence. I am quite sure I am correct in in- 
forming you that the proof which will be re- 
quired by Mr. Armadale's representatives will 
l»e the evidence of a witness present at the mar- 
riage who can speak to the identity of the bride 
and bridegroom from his own personal kmwl- 

•■ > Hut I have already told too,' I amid, 4 that 
there wa» no such |«erson present. ' 

44 * Precisely,' rejoined the doctor. ' In that 
rase, what you now want, before you can safely 
stir a step in the matter, is — if yon will pardon 
me the expression — a ready-made witness, pos- 
sessed of rare moral and personal resources, who 
can bfl trusted lo assume the mvr**arv charac- 
ter, and to make the necessary ]>* titration be- 
fore a magistrate. IK» you know of any such 
|srrson?" asked the doctor, throwing himself ba« k 
in his chair and looking at mc with the utmost 

• 4 Th< 
man!' h 


Jr. 'So like 
' most e\a*t«' 

a wo- 

1 i . t 

You se 

ton eai 

!Y and sue- 
d will tell 
rutin must 

in of the nv»t uu 

•• * W 
>oe won 

*• 1 ()' 
ladr. it 

I said, 

y confidential 

id. 4 My doar 
at a moment's 

4 1 want till this time to-morrow afternoon, 
r I hate it? A thousand thanks. Where 
I call on yon when I have decided what to 

with my address at the hotel. I had taken ej 
to present myself there as * Mrs. Armadnlt 


swervd my letters. We settled the hour at 
which the doctor was to call on me ; and, that 
matter arranged, I rose to go, resisting all i<(T« r- 
of refreshment, and all proposals to show mc 
over the house. His smooth persistence in 
keeping up appearances after we had thorough- 
ly understood each other disgusted mc. I got 
away from him as toon as I could, and came 
back to my diary and my ow n room. 

We shall *cc how it ends to-morrow. My 
own idea is that the doctor will sav Yea, 



"November 24. — The doctor has said Yes, as 
I supposed — but on terms which I never antici- 
pated. The conditions on which I have secured 
what he calls his ' confidential services' amount 
to nothing less than the payment to him, on my 
stepping into the place of Armadale's widow, of 
half my first year's income — in other words, six 
hundred pounds ! 

" I protested against this extortionate demand 
in every way I could think of. All to no pur- 
pose. The doctor met me with the most en- 
gaging frankness. Nothing, he said, but the 
accidental embarrassment of his position at the 
present time would have induced him to mix 
himself up in the matter at all. He would hon- 
estly confess that Jie had exhausted his own re- 
sources, and the resources of other persons whom 
he described as his 'backers,' in the purchase 
and completion of the Sanatorium. Under those 
circumstances, six hundred pounds in prospect 
ivas an object to him. For that sum he would 
run the serious risk of advising and assisting 
me. Not a farthing less would tempt him — 
and there he left it, with his best and friendliest 
wishes, in my hands ! 

"It ended in the only way in which it could 
end. I had no choice but to accept the terms, 
and to let the doctor settle things on the spot as 
he pleased. The arrangement once made be- 
tween us, I must do him the justice to say that 
he showed no disposition (as the proverb says) 
to let the grass grow under his feet. He called 
briskly for pens, ink, and paper, and suggested 
opening the campaign at Thorpe-Ambrose by 
to-night's post. 

' ' We agreed on a form of letter which I wrote, 
and which he copied on the spot. I entered into 
no particulars at starting. I simply asserted 
that I was the widow of the deceased Mr. Ar- 
madale ; that I had been privately married to 
him ; that I had returned to England on his 
sailing in the yacht from Naples ; and that I 
begged to inclose a copy of my marriage-certifi- 
cate, as a matter of form with which I presumed 
it was customary to comply. The letter was 
addressed to 'The representatives of the late 
Allan Armadale, Esq., Thorpe- Ambrose, Nor- 
folk.' And the doctor himself carried it away, 
and put it in the post. 

"Iam not so excited and so impatient for re- 
sults as I expected to be, now that the first step 
is taken. The thought of Midwinter haunts me 
like a ghost. I have been writing to him again 
— as before, to keep up appearances. It will 
be my last letter, I think. My courage feels 
shaken, my spirits get depressed, when my 
thoughts go back to Turin. I am no more ca- 
pable of facing the consideration of Midwinter 
at this moment than I was in the by-gone time. 
The day of reckoning with him, once distant 
and doubtful, is a day that may come to me 
now I know not how soon. And here I am, 
trusting myself blindly to the chapter of Acci- 
dents still ! 

"November 25. — At two o'clock to-day the 
Vol. XXXIII.— No. 193. — F 

doctor called again by appointment. He has 
been to his lawyers (of course without taking 
them into our confidence) to put the case sim- 
ply of proving my marriage. The result con- 
firms what he has already told me. The pivot 
on which the Avhole matter will turn, if my 
claim is disputed, will be the question of iden- 
tity ; and it may be necessary for the witness to 
make his Declaration in the magistrates' pres- 
ence before the Aveek is out. 

"In this position of affairs the doctor thinks it 
| important that Ave should be Avithin easy reach 
j of each other, and proposes to find a quiet lodg- 
i ing for me in his neighborhood. I am quite 
willing; to go any Avhere — for, among the other 
strange fancies that have got possession of me, I 
have an idea that I shall feel more completely 
lost to Midwinter if I move out of the neighbor- 
hood in Avhich his letters are addressed to me. 
I was awake and thinking of him again last 
night. This morning I have finally decided to 
Avrite to him no more. 

"After staying half an hour the doctor left 
me — having first inquired Avhether I would like 
to accompany him to Hampstead to look for 
lodgings. I informed him that I had some busi- 
ness of my OAvn Avhich Avould keep me in Lon- 
don. He inquired what the business Avas. 
'You Avill see,' I said, 'to-morroAv or next day.' 

"I had a moment's nervous trembling Avhen 
I Avas left by myself again. My business in 
London, besides being a serious business in a 
Avoman's eyes, took my mind back to Midwin- 
ter in spite of me. The prospect of removing 
to my new lodging had reminded me of the ne- 
cessity of dressing in my neAV character. The 
time had come uoav for getting my widow's loeeds. 

"My first proceeding, after putting my bon- 
net on, Avas to provide myself Avith money. I 
got Avhat I Avanted to fit me out for the character 
of Armadale's Avidow by nothing less than the 
sale of Armadale's own present to me on my 
marriage — the ruby ring. It proved to be a 
more A^aluable jewel than I had supposed. I 
am likely to be spared all money anxieties for 
some time to come. 

"On leaving the jeweler's I Avent to the great 
mourning shop in Regent Street. In four-and- 
twenty hours (if I can give them no more) they 
have engaged to dress me in my widow's cos- 
tume from head to foot. I had another feverish 
■ moment Avhen I left the shop ; and, by Avay of 
farther excitement on this agitating day, I found 
a surprise in store for me on my return to the 
hotel. An elderly gentleman Avas'announced to 
be waiting to see me. I opened my sitting- 
room door — and there AA r as old BasliAvood ! 

" He had got my letter that morning, and 
had started for London by the next train to an- 
swer it in person ! I had expected a great deal 
from him, but I had certainly not expected that. 
It nattered me. For the moment, I declare it 
flattered me ! 

"I pass OA-er the Avretched old creature's rap- 
tures and reproaches, and groans and tears, and 
Aveary long prosings about the lonely months he 



had passed at Thorpe-Ambrose, brooding over 
my desertion of him. He was quite eloquent at 
times— but I didn't want his eloquence hem It 
is needless to say that I put myself tight with 
him, and consulted his feelings before I asked 
him his news. What a blessing ■ ITUBBUaa 
vanity is sometimes! I alnio>t forgot my riskl 
and responsibilities in my anxiety to be charm- 
ing. For a minute or two I felt a warm little 
flutter of triumph. And it wat a triumph 
even with an old man ! In a quarter of an 
hour I had him smirking and smiling, lunging 
on my lightest words in an ecstasy, and answer- 
ing all the questions I put to him like a good 
little child. 

"Here is his account of affairs at Thnrj>e- 
Ambrosc, as I gently extracted it from him bit 
by bit : 

"In the first place, the news of A rmn hi! ■ *i 

death has reached Miss Milrov. It h i 

plctely overwhelmed her that her father hits 
been compelled to remove her from the school. 
She is back at the cottage, and the doctor is in 
daily attendance. D» I pity her? Yes! I 
pity her exactly as much as she once pitied me! 

u In the next place, the state of attain at the 
great house, which I exacted to find some dif- 
ficulty in eou i prehepdiogj turns out to be quite 
Intelligible, and certainly UOt discouraging eo 
far. Only yesterday the lawyer* on b<th si !« » 
came to an understanding. Mr. D.treh (tlie fan 
ily solicitor of the Blum hard*, and Armadale's 
bitter enemy in past times) represents the in- 
terests of Miss Blanchard, who is next heir to 
the estate, and who ha**, it ap|>ears. I icon in I-on. 
don on business of her own for some time past. 
Mr. Smart of Norwich (originally employed lo 
overlook Bashwood in the steward's ofticc) rcp- 
rescnts the deceased Armadale. And thii is 
what the two lawyers June settled l»ctwecn them. 

"Mr. Darch, acting for Mis-* Bl.-tnchard, has 
claimed the possession of the estate and the right 
of receiving the rents at the Christmas audit in 
her name. Mr. Smart, on his side, has admit- 
ted that there is great weight in the family so- 
licitor's application. He can not see his war, 
as things are now, to contesting the question of 
Armadale's death, and he will consent to offer 
no resistance to the application if Mr. Darch 
will c-mscnt, on his >ide, to issuUM the respons- 
ibility of taking possession in Miss Iilanchard's 
name. This Mr. Darch has already done ; and 
the estate is now virtually in Mi<s Iilanchard's 

11 One result of this course of proceeding will 
be (as Bashwood thinks) to put Mr. Darch in 
the position of the person who really decides on 
my claim to the widow's place and the widow's 
money. The income being charged on the 
estate, it must come out of Miss Blanchar.l- 
pocket ; and the question of paying it would ap- 
pear therefore to be a question for Miss Iilan- 
chard's lawyer. To-morrow will probablv decide 
whether this view is the right one— for m J let- 
ter to Armadale's representatives will have" been 
delivered at the great house this morning 

"So much for what old Bush wood had to tell 
me. Having recovered my influence over him, 
and j-ox>es M -.l in wit" of nil his information so 
far, the next thing to con*: h r «.h the right use 
to turn him to in the future. He was cntirelv 
at my disposal, for his place at the steward's of- 
fice has been nlreadv taken bv Miss Blanchard'- 
man of business, and he pleaded hard to be al- 

There would m t have been the least danger in 
letting him stay, for I had, as a matter of course, 
left him undisturbed in his conviction that I re- 
ally am the widow of Armadale of Thorpe- Am- 
brose. But with the doctor's resource* at my 
command, I wanted no assistance of any sort 
in London ; and it occurred to mo that I might 
jossibly make Bashwood more useful by send- 
ing him back to Norfolk to watch the progress 
of events there in my interests.- He looked 
sorely disappointed (haring had an eye evident- 
ly to paying his court to mo in my widowed 
condition!) when I told him of tho conclusion 
nt which I had aimed. But a few words of 

odest hint that ho might 

d future if ho served mo 

i the prt 

•«rnt, did wonders in rcc- 

neccs»ity of meeting my 

»clplc*»ly for * instrui tious' 

him to leave mo and trav- 

.g train. I could giro him 

•UUtJUl of what tho legal 

ht not do. * But suppose 

he persisted, * that 1 don't 

I to do, so far awnv from 

rivo him one answer. 'Do 

Whatever it is, hold your 

ami write, or coi 

certain change in old 
putxlcd roe at the lii 

"duly, I let him 
T to the train, 
nin, and able to 
Utwccn mo and 
\ »« II recalling u 
l's manner which 
liich pussies me 

life at Thorpe- Ambrose, 

first momenta of agitation st 
;ht that his eyes rested on luy 
kind of interest while I was 
Besides this, he drop|<cd a 
rard. telling mo of his lonely 
ich seemed to imtdv 

future relations with me when we next n et. If 
he had hem a younger and a bolder man (and 
if anv such discovery had been possible L I should 

him privately confident of exercising a power cf 
control over me if I showed anv disposition to 

. deceive and desert him again. But such an 
idea as this in connection with old Bashwood is 
simply absurd. Perhaps I am over-excited by 

I the suspense and anxiety of my present po<»i- 



tion ? Perhaps the merest fancies and sus- 
picions are leading me astray ? Let this be as 
it may, I have at any rate more serious subjects 
than the subject of old Bashwood to occupy me 
now. To-morrow's post may tell me what Ar- 
madale's representatives think of the claim of 
Armadale's widow. 

"November 2Gth. — The answer has arrived 
this morning in the form (as Bashwood sup- 
posed) of a letter from Mr. Darch. The crab- 
bed old lawyer acknowledges my letter in three 
lines. Before he takes any steps or expresses 
any opinion on the subject he wants evidence 
of identity as well as the evidence of the certifi- 
cate, and he ventures to suggest that it may 
be desirable before we go any further to refer 
him to my legal advisers. 

" T/co o'clock. — The doctor called shortly 
after twelve to say that he had found a lodging 
for me within twenty minutes' walk of the San- 
atorium. In return for his news I showed him 
Mr. Darch's letter. He took it away at once to 
1 1 is lawyers, and came back witli the necessary 
information for my guidance. I have answered 
Mr. Darch's by sending him the address of my 
legal advisers — otherwise, the doctor's lawyers 
— without making any comment on the desire 
that he has expressed for additional evidence of 
the marriage. This is all that can be done to- 
day. To-morrow will bring with it events of 
greater interest — for to-morrow the doctor is to 
make his Declaration before the magistrate, and 
to-morrow I am to move to my new lodging in 
my widow's weeds. 

" November 27th. — Fairweather Vale Villas. — 
The Declaration has been made, with all the 
necessary formalities. And I have taken pos- 
session, in my widow's costume, of my new 

" I Ought to be excited by the opening of this 
new act in the drama, and by the venturesome 
part that I am playing in it myself. Strange to 
say, I am quiet and depressed. The thought 
of Midwinter has followed me to my new abode, 
and is pressing on me heavily at this moment. 
I have no fear of any accident happening in the 
interval that must still pass before I step pub- 
licly into the place of Armadale's widow. But 
when that time comes, and when Midwinter 
finds me (as sooner or later find me he must !) 
figuring in my false character, and settled in the 
position that I have usurped — then, I ask my- 
self, What will happen ? The answer still comes 
as it first came to me this morning, when I put 
on my widow's dress. Now, as then, the pre- 
sentiment is fixed in my mind that he will kill 
me. If it was not too late to draw back — Ab- 
surd ! I shall shut up my journal. 

" November 28th. — The lawyers have heard 
from Mr. Darch, and have sent him the Decla- 
ration by return of post. 

"When the doctor brought me this news, I 

asked him whether his lawyers were aware of 
my present address; and, finding that he had 
not yet mentioned it to them, I begged that he 
would continue to keep it a secret for the future. 
The doctor laughed: 'Are you afraid of Mr. 
Darch's stealing a march on us, and coming to 
attack you personally?' he asked. I accepted 
the imputation, as the easiest way of making 
him comply with my request. « Yes,' I said, * I 
am afraid of Mr. Darch.' 

"My spirits have risen since the doctor left 
me. There is a pleasant sensation of security 
in feeling that no strangers are in possession of 
my address. I am easy enough in my mind 
to-day to notice how wonderfully well I look in 
my widow's weeds, and to make myself agree- 
able to the people of the house. 

"Midwinter disturbed me a little again last 
night ; but I have got over the ghastly delusion 
which possessed me yesterday. I know better 
now than to dread violence from him when he 
discovers what I have done. And there is still 
less fear of his stooping to assert his claim to a 
woman who has practiced on him such a decep- 
tion as mine. The one serious trial that I shall 
be put to when the day of reckoning comes, will 
be the trial of preserving my false character in 
his presence. I shall be safe in his loathing 
and contempt for me after that. On the day 
when I have denied him to his face I shall have 
seen the last of him forever. 

"Shall I be able to deny him to his face? 
Shall I be able to look at him and speak to him 
as if he had never been more to me than a friend ? 
How do I know till the time comes ! Was there 
ever such an infatuated fool as I am, to be writ- 
ing of him at all, when writing only encourages 
me to think of him? I will make a new reso- 
lution. From this time forth his name shall ap- 
pear no more in these pages. 

"Monday, December 1st. — The last month of 
the worn-out old year, eighteen hundred and 
fifty-one ! If I allowed myself to look back, 
what a miserable year I should see added to all 
the other miserable years that are gone ! But 
I have made my resolution to look forward only, 
and I mean to keep it. 

"I have nothing to record of the last two 
days, except that on the twenty-ninth I remem- 
bered Bashwood, and wrote to tell him of my 
new address. This morning the lawyers heard 
again from Mr. Darch. He acknowledges the 
receipt of the Declaration, but postpones stating 
the decision at which he has arrived until he 
has communicated with the trustees under the 
late Mr. Blanchard's will, and has received his 
final instructions from his client, Miss Blan- 
chard. The doctor's lawyers tell him that this 
last letter is a mere device for gaining time — 
with what object they are of course not in a 
position to guess. The doctor himself says, 
facetiously, it is the usual lawyer's object of 
making a long bill. My own idea is that Mr. 
Darch has his suspicions of something wrong, 
and that his purpose in trying to gain time 

" r <% " Ten, at nhjht.—l had written as far as that 
V last unfinished sentence (toward four in the aft- 
ernoon) when I was startled by hearing a cafe 
drive up to the door. I went to the window, 
and got there just in time to see old Hashwood 
getting out with an activity of which I should 
never have supposed him capable. So little did 
I anticipate the tremendous discovery thai til 
o-oing to burst on me in another minute that I 
turned to the glass, and wondered what the IQft- 
ceptible old gentleman would say to HM in my 
widow's cap. 

"The instant he entered the room I saw t! 
some serious disaster had happened. His eyes 
were wild, his wig was awn . He :.: ; 
me with a strange mixture of eagerness and I 
may. 'I've done as you told me,' he whispci 
breathlessly. ' I've held my tongue about 
and come straight to >/""•'" He caught m< 
the hand before I could speak, with 
quite new in my experience of him ! 
can I break it to you?' he bur-t out 
side myself when I think of it" 

" 'When you coa sjH.-ak,' I said, putting him 
into a chair, 4 sjK?ak out. I see in \ t" - o that 
you bring me news I don'1 look for from Thorpe- 

"He put his hand into the brcn-t |*>cket of 
his coat and drew out n letter, lie |.h i. 
the letter, and looked at inc. 4 N> w-n» ■ MMI 
you don't look for,' he stammered ; 1 1 . 
from Thorpe- Amino-. '. ' 

" 4 Not from Tliorpe-Ambrosc !' 

14 4 No. From the hen !* 

44 Thc first d:Lwniu_' « f the truth broke on mc 
at those words. I couldn't sjx'nk — I could only 
hold out my hand to bin for the l- tt< r . 

44 He stiil shrank from giving it to me. 4 1 
daren't ! I daren't !' he said to himself, vacant- 
ly. 4 The shock of it might be the death of 

" I snatched the letter from him. One glance 
at the writing on the address was enough. My 
hands fell on my lap, with the letter f.i*t held 
in them. I sat petrified, without moving, with- 
out speaking, without hearing a word of what 
Bashwood was saying to mc, and slow ! 
the terrible truth. The man whose widow I 
had claimed to be was a living man to confront 
me! In vain I had mixed the drink at Naples 
— in vain I had betrayed him into M.vnii' l'» 
hands. Twice I had set the deadly snare for 
him, and twice Armadale ha ! « - ftp 1 n ' 

44 1 came to my sen<e of outward things 
again, and found Bashwood ou his knees . 
feet, crying. 

4 4 4 You look angry,' he murmured, helpleeely. 
'Arc you angry with >ne ? Oh, if you only knew 
what hopes I had when we last saw each other, 
and how cruelly that letter has dashed them all 
to the ground !' 

"I put the miserable old creature back from 
me — but very gently. 'Hush!' I said. 4 Don't 
distress me now. I want composure — I want to 
read the letter.' 

" He went awav submissive! v to the other end 



t;ht mc by 
1 boldness 
•Oh, how 
•I'm bc- 

of the room. As soon as my eye was off him I 
heard him say to himself, with impotent molig- 
nitv, 'If the sea had been of my mind the sea 
would have drowned hint 1 

" Due by i in' I si owly oj-ened the folds of the 
letter, feeling while 1 did so the strangeM in- 
capability of fixing my nttcntioii on the vi ry 
lines that I was burning to read. Bat why 
dwell any longer on the effect produced upon 
mc by the letter? h will l«c more to the pur- 
p.-e if I the letter itself, for future let'er 

ence, ou this page of my journal : 

"fkaHB, Illtwa, .Vom»ibrr 21, 1S51. 
"Ma. Bashwood, — The address I date from 

to write to you from a port on the Adriatic Son. 

•• I have been the victim of n rascally attempt 
at robbery and murder. The robU'iy has mc- 
ccedcU ; and it is only through the mercy of 
God that the murder did not succeed too. 

11 1 hired a vachl rather more than a month 
nco at Xatdc* and sailed (I am clad to think 

atic. Ti 
Storms i 
hum in 
Mr— I d< 

ui I went for a cruise in the Adri- 

The vessel behared no- 
te tears in my ryes now 

the bottom of the sen: 
n to moderate ; and by 

b*ng smooth swell, the 
•d be. I went below, a 
cd in workinc the vn hi 

A I it two i. 

iuh after I was wu 
ly cabin through a 
upiicr part of the 

key wrapped in it, and with writing in the inner 
side, in a hand which it was not verv caM to 

"Up to this time I had not had the ghost of 
] a suspicion that I was alone at sea with a gang 
of murderous vagabonds (excepting one onlyy 
! who would stick at nothing. I had got on very 
well with my sailing-master (the worst woun- 
drcl of the lot), and better still with bis Kngli»h 
mate. The sailors being all foreigners J had 
verv little to sar to. They did their work, and no 
\ quam-U and nothing unpleasant hapj>ened. If 
, any h»<dy had told me, before I went to bed on 
the night after the storm, that the sailing-master 
and tiie crew and the mate (who bad been no 
, better than the rest of them at starting) were all 
in a conspiracy to rob me of the money I hu<! 
on board, and then to drown me in my own 
vessel afterward, I should have laughed in his 
face. Ju-t remember that, and then fancy for 
yourself (for I'm sure I can't tell you) what I 
must have thought when I opened the paper 
round the key, and read what I now copy (from 
the mate's writing) as follows: 

41 1 Sra,— Stay in your bed till you hear » boat «hore off 
from the starboard ride— or you are a dead man. Your 



money is stolen ; and in five minutes' time the yacht will 
be scuttled and the cabin-hatch will be nailed down on 
you. Dead men tell no tales — and the sailing-master's 
notion is to leave proofs afloat that the vessel has found- 
ered with all on board. It was his doing to begin with, 
and we were all in it. I can't find it in my heart not to 
give you a chance for your life. It's a bad chance, but I 
can do no more. I should be murdered myself if I did not 
seem to go with the rest. The key of your cabin-door is 
thrown back to you, inside this. Don't be alarmed when 
you hear the hammer above. I shall do it, and I shall 
have short nails in my hands as well as long, and use the 
short ones only. Wait till you hear the boat with all of 
us shove off, and then prize up the cabin-hatch with your 
back. The vessel will float a quarter of an hour after the 
holes are bored in her. Slip into the sea on the port side, 
and keep the vessel between you and the boat. You will 
find plenty of loose lumber, wrenched away on purpose, 
drifting about to hold on by. It's a fine night and a 
smooth sen, and there's a chance that a ship may pick you 
up while there's life left in you. I can do no more. 

u ' Yours truly, J. M.' 

''As I came to these last words I heard the 
hammering-down of the hatch over my head. I 
don't suppose I'm more of a coward than most 
people — but there was a moment when the sweat 
poured down me like rain. I got to be my own 
man again before the hammering was done, and 
found myself thinking of somebody very dear 
to me in England. I said to myself, ' I'll have 
a try for my life, though the chances are dead 
against me.' 

"I put a letter from that person I have men- 
tioned into one of the stoppered bottles of my 
dressing-case — along with the mate's warning, 
in case I lived to see him again. I hung this 
and a flask of brandy in a sling round my neck 
— and, after first dressing myself in my confu- 
sion, thought better of it, and stripped again, 
for swimming, to my shirt and drawers. By 
the time I had done that the hammering was 
over, and there was such a silence that I could 
hear the water bubbling into the scuttled vessel 
amidships. The next noise was the noise of the 
boat and the villains in her (always excepting 
my friend the mate) shoving off from the star- 
board side I waited for the splash of the oars 
in the water, and then got my back under the 
hatch. The mate had kept his promise. I 
lifted it easily — crept across the deck, under 
cover of the bulwarks, on all fours — and slipped 
into the sea on the port side. Lots of things 
were floating about. I took the first thing I 
came to — a hen-coop — and swam away with it 
about a couple of hundred yards, keeping the 
yacht between me and the boat. Having got 
that distance I was seized with a shivering fit, 
and I stopped (fearing the cramp next) to take 
a pull at my flask of brandy. When I had 
closed the flask again I turned for a moment to 
look back, and saw the yacht in the act of sink- 
ing. In a minute more there was nothing be- 
tween me and the boat but the pieces of wreck 
that had been purposely thrown out to float. 
The moon was shining ; and if they had had a 
glass in the boat, I believe they might have seen 
my head, though I carefully kept the hen-coop 
between me and them 

"As it was, they laid on their oars; and I 
heard loud voices among them disputing. Aft- 

er what seemed an age to me I discovered what 
the dispute was about. The boat's head was 
suddenly turned my way. Some cleverer scoun- 
drel than the rest (the sailing-master, I dare 
say) had evidently persuaded them to row back 
over the place where the yacht had gone down, 
and make quite sure that I had gone down with 

"They were more than half-way across the 
distance that separated us, and I had given mv- 
self up for lost, when I heard a cry from one of 
them, and saw the boat's progress suddenly 
checked. In a minute or two more the boat's 
head was turned again ; and they rowed straight 
away from me like men rowing for their lives. 

"I looked on one side, toward the land, and 
saw nothing. I looked on the other, toward the 
sea, and discovered what the boat's crew had 
discovered before me — a sail in the distance, 
growing steadily brighter and bigger in the 
moonlight the longer I looked at it. In a quar- 
ter of an hour more the vessel was within hail 
of me, and the crew had got me on board. 

"They were all foreigners, and they quite 
deafened me by their jabber. I tried signs, but 
before I could make them understand me I was 
seized with another shivering fit, and was car- 
ried below. The vessel hied on her course, I 
have no doubt, but I was in no condition to 
know any thing about it. Before morning I 
was in a fever; and from that time I can re- 
member nothing clearly till I came to my senses 
at this place, and found myself under the care 
of a Hungarian merchant, the consignee (as 
they call it) of the coasting vessel that had pick- 
ed me up. He speaks English as well or better 
than I do; and he has treated me with a kind- 
ness which I can find no words to praise. When 
he was a young man he was in England him- 
self, learning business, and he says he has re- 
membrances of our country which make his heart 
warm toward an Englishman. He has fitted 
me out with clothes, and has lent me the money 
to travel with as soon as the doctor allows me 
to start for home. Supposing I don't get a re- 
lapse, I shall be fit to travel in a week's time 
from this. If I can catch the mail at Trieste, 
and stand the fatigue, I shall be back again at 
Thorpe-Ambrose in a week or ten days at most 
after you get my letter. You will agree with 
me that it is a terribly long letter. But I can't 
help that. I seem to have lost my old knack at 
putting things short, and finishing on the first 
page. However, I am near the end now — for I 
have nothing left to mention but the reason why 
I write about what has happened to me, instead 
of waiting till I get home, and telling it all by 
word of mouth. 

" I fancy my head is still muddled by my ill- 
ness. At any rate, it only struck me this morn- 
ing that there is barely a chance of some vessel 
having passed the place where the yacht found- 
ered, and having picked up the furniture and 
things wrenched out of her and left to float. 
Some false report of my being drowned may, in 
that case, have reached England. If this has 



happened (which I hope to God may be an un- 
founded fear on my part), go directly to Major 
Milroy at the cottage. Show him this letter — 
I have written it quite as much for his eye as 
for yours— and then give him the inclo* '1 I 
and ask him if he doesn't think the circum- 
stances justify me in hoping lie will send it to 
Miss Milroy. I can't explain why I don't write 
directly to the major or to Miss Milivy Instead I f 
to you. I can only say there are considerations 
I am bound in honor to retpect, which oblige 
me to act in this roundabout way. 

" I don't ask you to answer this — for I shall 
be on my way homo. I hope, long before 
letter could reach me in this out-of-the-way place. 
Whatever you do don't lose a moment In g 
to Major Milroy. Go, on second thought 
cr the loss of the yacht is known in England or 
not. Yours truly, 

"Allan Armadale." 

44 I looked up when I had come to the cn«! of 
the letter, and saw, for the first time, that Ila»h- 
wood had left his chair, and had pi »• ed himself 
opposite to me. J I is e\cs were fixed on my 
face, with the eager inquiring expression of a 
man who was trxinu' to read my thought*. Ili» 
eyes fell guiltily when they met mine, and he 
shrank away to his chair. Relieving, as he did, 
that 1 was really married to Armnd.b', wo* ho 
trying to discover whether the new* of Arma- 
dale's rescue from the sea was good new* or l»ad 
news in my estimation? It wan no tiu»<* th«n 
for entering into explanations with him. The 
first thing to bo done was to communicate in- 
stantly with the doctor. I called Ra»hwood 
hark to me, and gave him mv hand. 

"'You have done me a sen ice,' I naid, 
1 which makes us closer friend* than ever. I 
shall say more about this and about other mat- 
ters of some interest to both of an. later in the 
day. I want you now to lend me Mr. Arma- 
dale's letter (which I promise to bring back) 
and to wait here till I return. YVill you do 
that for me, Mr. Rashwood ':' 

"He would do any thing I asked him, he 
said. I went into the bedroom, and pot I | . 
bonnet and shawl. 

" ' Let me be quite sure of the facts before I 
leave you,* I resumed, when I was ready to go 
out. 4 Y~ou have not shown this letter to anv 
body but mc ?' 

" 'Not a living soul has seen it but onr two 

" ' What have you done with the note inclosed 
to Miss Milroy?' 

" He produced it from his pocket. I ran it 
over rapidly— saw that there was nothing in it 
of the slightest importance— and put it in the 
fire on the spot. That done, I left Ba-hwood 
in the sitting-room, and went to the Sanatorium 
with Armadale's letter in my hand. 

"The doctor had gone out ; and the sonant 
was unable to say positively at what time he 
would be back. I went into his Btndy, and 
wrote a line preparing him for the news" I had 

brought with me, which I sealed up, with Ar- 
madale's letter, in an envelope, to await his re- 
turn. That done, 1 told the scrvaut I would 
call again in an hour, and left the place. 

" It was useless to go back to my lodgings 
and >q»cak to I>a>h\\i»od until I knew first what 
the doctor meant to do. I walked about the 
neighborhood, up and down new streets atid 
crescents and squares, with a kind of dull, 

tion of bo 
r.t,.i: n » «... 

:uc. I rcim-uihcrvd the name 

to be tried for my life. All that 
i came back a^nin to my mind, in 
manner, a* if it bad been a pcctie 

had not hunted mc ! 


i\i"U*lv nni! 
" I went ini 


tat he was in his own room 
to see me. 

le sttidv, nnd found him sit- 

and mv note, I 

It « 

l.« L. 

to toll 

him when he first discovered thai Armadale wa< 
a living man. 

M * Take a scat near the fire,' ho said. 4 It's 
very raw and cold to-day." 

'* I took a chair in silence. In silence, on 
his side, tho doctor sat rubbing his knees before 
the fire. 

*' * Have you nothing to »ay to me?' I inked. 
"He ro*c, and suddenly removed the shade 
from the reading-lamp, so that the li r ht fell on 

mv face. 

•• 1 You arc not looking well,' he said. 4 What'* 
the matter?' 

M 4 Mv head feels dull, and mv eves arc lwuvv 
and hot,* I replied. 1 The weather, I »u| •-.««•.'• 
44 It was »trangc how we both got farther and 
farther from the one vitally important subject 
which we had both come together to discuss! 

44 4 1 think a cup of tea would do you good,' 
remarked the doctor. 

"I accepted his suggestion, and he ordered 
the t a. While it was coming he walked up 
and down the room, and I sat by the fire — and 
not a word passed between us on cither side. 

44 The tea revived mc ; and the doctor no- 
ticed a change for the better in my face. He 
sat down opposite to mc at the table and spoke 
out at last. 

44 4 If I had ten thousand pounds at this mo- 
- mcnt,' he bc,ran, ' I would give the whole of it 
never to have compromised myself in your des- 
perate speculations on Mr. Armadale's death !' 
"He said these words with an abruptness, 



almost with a violence, which was strangely un- j 
characteristic of his ordinary manner. Was he 1 
frightened himself, or was he trying to frighten 
me ? I determined to make him explain him- 
self at the outset, so far as I was concerned. 
' Wait a moment, doctor,' I said. ' Do you hold 
me responsible for what has happened?' 

" 'Certainly not,' he replied, stiffly. 'Nei- 
ther you nor any body could have foreseen what 
has happened. When I say I would give ten 
thousand pounds to be out of this business I am 
blaming nobody but myself. And when I tell 
you next that I, for one, won't allow Mr. Arma- 
dale's resurrection from the sea to be the ruin 
of me without a fight for it, I tell you, my dear 
madam, one of the plainest truths I ever told to 
man or woman in the whole course of my life. 
Don't suppose I am invidiously separating my 
interests from yours in the common danger that 
now threatens us both. I simply indicate the 
difference in the risk that we have respectively 
run. You have not sunk the whole of your re- 
sources in establishing a Sanatorium ; and you 
have not made a false declaration before a mag- 
istrate, which is punishable as perjury by the | 

"I interrupted him again. His selfishness 
did me more good than his tea — it roused my 
temper effectually. ' Suppose we let your risk 
and my risk alone, and come to the point,' I 
said. 'What do you mean by making a fight 
for it? I see a railway guide on your table. 
Does making a fight for it mean — running 
away ?' 

"'Running away?' repeated the doctor. 
' You appear to forget that every farthing I 
have in the world is embarked in this establish- 

" 'You stop here then?' I said. 
" ' Unquestionably 1' 

" 'And what do you mean to do when Mr. 
Armadale comes to England?' 

" A solitary fly, the last of his race whom the 
winter had spared, was buzzing feebly about the 
doctor's face. He caught it before he answered 
me, and held it out across the table in his closed 

" 'If this fly's name was Armadale,' he said, 
' and if you had got him as I have got him now, 
what would you do ?' 

"His eyes, fixed on my face up to this time, 
turned significantly, as he ended his question, 
to my widow's dress. I, too, looked at it when 
he looked. A thrill of the old deadly hatred 
and the old deadly determination ran through 
me again. 

"'I should kill him,' I said. 

"The doctor started to his feet (with the fly 
still in his hand) and looked at me — a little too 
theatrically — with an expression of the utmost 

" ' Kill him !' repeated the doctor, in a parox- 
ysm of virtuous alarm. 'Violence — murderous 
violence — in My Sanatorium ! You take my 
breath away !' 

"I caught his eye while he was expressing 

himself in this elaborately indignant manner, 
scrutinizing me with a searching curiosity which 
was, to say the least of it, a little at variance 
with the vehemence of his language and the 
warmth of his tone. He laughed uneasily when 
our eyes met, and recovered his smooth confi- 
dential manner in that instant that elapsed be- 
fore he spoke again. 

"'I beg a thousand pardons,' he said. 'I 
ought to have known better than to take a lady 
too literally at her word. Permit me to remind 
you, however, that the circumstances are too 
serious for any thing in the nature of— let us 
say, an exaggeration or a joke. You shall hear 
what I propose without further preface.' He 
paused, and resumed his figurative use of the fly 
imprisoned in his hand. ' Here is Mr. Arma- 
dale. I can let him out or keep him in, just as 
I please — and he knows it. I say to him,' con- 
tinued the doctor, facetiously addressing the 
fly, 'Give me proper security, Mr. Armadale, 
that no proceedings of any sort shall be taken 
against either this lady or myself, and I will let 
you out of the hollow of my hand. Refuse — 
and be the risk what it may, I will keep you in.' 
Can you doubt, my dear madam, what Mr. 
Armadale's answer is, sooner or later, certain to 
be ? Can you doubt,' said the doctor, suiting 
the action to the word and letting the fly go, 
' that it will end to the entire satisfaction of all' 
parties in this way?' 

" ' I won't say at present, ' I answered, ' wheth- 
er I doubt or not. Let me make sure that I 
understand you first. You propose, if I am not 
mistaken, to shut the doors of this place on Mr. 
Armadale, and not to let him out again until he 
has agreed to the terms which it is our interest 
to impose on him ? May I ask, in that case, 
how you mean to make him walk into the trap 
that you have set for him here ?' 

" 'I propose,' said the doctor, with his hand 
on the railway guide, ' ascertaining first, at what 
time during every evening of this month the 
tidal trains from Dover and Folkestone reach 
the London Bridge terminus. And I propose 
next posting a person whom Mr. Armadale 
knows, and whom you and I can trust, to wait 
the arrival of the trains, and to meet our man at 
the moment when he steps out of the railway 
carriage. ' 

" ' Have you thought,' I inquired, 4 of who the 
person is to be?' 

" ' I have thought,' said the doctor, taking up 
Armadale's letter, ' of the person to whom this 
letter is addressed.' 

"The answer startled me. Was it possible 
that he and Bashwood knew one another? I 
put the question immediately. 

" ' Until to-day I never so much as heard of 
the gentleman's, name,' said the doctor. 'I 
have simply pursued the inductive process of 
reasoning, for which we are indebted to the im- 
mortal Bacon. How does this very important 
letter come into your possession ? I can't insult 
you by supposing it to have been stolen. Con- 
sequently it has come to you with the leave and 


license of the person to whom it is addressed. 
Consequently that person is in your contid. 
Consequently he is the first person I think of. 
You see the process? Very good. Permit me 
a question or two, on the subject of Mr. lia-h- 
wood, before we go on any I'm t her.' 

"The doctor's questions went as straight to 
the point as usual. My answers informed him 
that Mr. Bashwood stood toward Armadale in 
the relation of steward— that he had received 
the letter at Thorpe-Ambrose that morning, and 
had brought it straight to me by the tir-t train 
— that he had not shown it or spoken of it !<c- 
fore leaving to Major Milroy or to any ono els* 
— and that I had not obtained this m mce At 
his hands by trusting him with my secret — that 
I had communicated with him in the character 
of Armadale's widow — that ho had suppressed 
the letter, under these circumstance*, solely in 
obedience to a general caution I had given lum 
to keep his own counsel if any thin.: orange 
happened at Thorpc-Ambroso until he had fir*t 
consulted me — and lastly, that the rvawn why 
he hail done ns I told him in this matter ta*, 
that in this matter, and in all other*, Mr. Ila»h- 
wood was blindly devoted to my intcrc»ta. 

"At this point in the interrogatory the doc- 
tor's eyes l>cgan to look at inc di»tru»tfully be- 
hind the doctor's sperta< lei. 

" 4 What is the secret of this blind devotion 
of Mr. Bnshwood's to your intcre»t»?' he a*kc 1. 

"I h Stated for a moment — in pity t«» IU*h* 
wood, not in pity t » myself. 4 If }ou mint 
know.' I answered, 4 Mr. llashwood U in love 
with inc' 

4 4 4 Ay! ny!' exclaimed the doctor, with nn 
air of relief. 1 I bc^in to understand now. It 
he a youiu man ':' 

4 4 4 He is an old man.' 

44 The doctor laid hitmelf back in hit chair 
and chuckled softly. 4 Ilcttcr and U*ttcr,' he 
said. 'Here is the very man wc want. Who 
so tit as Mr. Armadale's Steward to meet Mr. 
Armadale on his return to Ixmdon? And who 
so capable of intluencing Mr. BsslkWOOd in the 
proper way si the charming object of Mr \\ . ... 
wood's admiration ?' 

"There could be no doubt that Hashwood 
was the man to serve the doctor's purpose, and 
that my influence was to 1-e trusted to make 
him serve it. The difficulty was not here — the 
difficulty was in the unanswered question that 
I had put to the doctor a minute since. I pm 
it to him again. 

" 4 Suppose Mr. Armadale's steward meets his 
employer at the terminus.' I s i: 1. * Ma\ I 
once more how Mr. Armadale is to be persuaded 
to come here ?' 

44 4 Don't think me ungallant,' rejoined the 
doctor, in his gentlest manner. ' if I ask, on my 
side, how are men persuaded to do nine-tenths 
of the foolish acts of their lives? Thev are 
persuaded by your charming sex. The weak 
side of every man is the woman's side of him. 
We have only to discover the woman's side of 
Mr. Armadale — to tickle him on it gently — and 

to lead him o;:r w..\ with a fiikcii >lring I 
observe- here,' pursued the doctor, opening Ar- 
madale's letter, *a reference to a certain young 
lady, which look* promising. Where is the 
note that Mr. Armadale »]«caks of as addressed 
to Miss Milroy ':' 

"Instead of answering him I started, in a 
sudden burst of excitement, to my feet. The 
instant he mentioned Miss Milroy 's name all 
that I had heard from Ranhwood of her illness 
and of the cause of it ru»hed back into mr 
memorv. I saw the mneni of decorin^' Anna- 

at the extraordinary change in me. 
a luxury it was to make Miss Milroy 

erer mind the note/ I said. 4 It'n burnt, 
of aceidenu. I can tell rou all (and 

m tho very first question ho is certain to 

ik — 

" ' I «ee !' exclaimed the doctor, anticipating 
u IJfo Hanhwood lias nothing to do bnt to 

urn to u< 

ladr, I 

•If. Pen 

mind! no risk — no lien 


d rou ih 

as an 

at the right place.' 
mr I had kcia I la .! 

wood waiting tor me J took the book at once, 
and wished tho doctor good-evening without 
further ceremony. At he politely o)icncd the 
door for me he reverted, without the slightest 
nece»>»ty for doing so, and without a word from 
me to lead to it, to the outbur»t of urinous 
ulurm which had escaped him at the earlier 
j»art of our interview. 

4 4 4 1 do ho;<?.' he said, 4 that you will kindly 
forget and forgive my cxtraoruinary want of 
tact and perception when — in short, when I 
caught the fly. I positively blush at m\ own 
stupidity in patting a literal interpretation on a 
lady's little joke ! Violence in My Sanatori- 
um!' exclaimed the doctor, with his eyes once 
more fixed attentively on my face ; 4 violence 
in this enlightened nineteenth century! Wo* 
there ever any tiling so ridiculous? Do fasten 
your cloak lieforc you yo out — it i* so cold and 
[raw! Shall I escort you? .Shall I Send my 



servant? Ah! you were always independent 
— always, if I may say so, a host in yourself! 
May I call to-morrow morning and hear what 
you have settled with Mr. Bash wood?' 

"I said yes, and got away from him at last. 
In a quarter of an hour more I was back at my 
lodgings, and was informed by the servant that 
' the elderly gentleman' was still waiting for me. 

" 1 have not got the heart or the patience — 
I hardly know which — to waste many words on 
what passed between me and Bashwood. It 
was so easy, so degradingly easy, to pull the 
strings of the poor old puppet in any way I 
pleased ! I met none of the difficulties which 
I should have been obliged to meet in the case 
of a younger man, or of a man less infatuated 
with admiration for me. I left the allusions to 
Miss Milroy in Armadale's letter, which had 
naturally puzzled him, to be explained at a fu- 
ture time. I never even troubled myself to in- 
vent a plausible reason for wishing him to meet 
Armadale at the terminus, and to entrap him 
by a stratagem into the doctor's Sanatorium. 
All that I found it necessary to do was to refer 
him to what I had written, in the first place, 
and to what I had afterward said to him when 
he came to answer my letter personally at the 

" 'You know already, Mr Bashwood,' I said, 
' that my marriage has not been a happy one. 
Draw vour own conclusions from that, and don't 
press me to tell you whether the news of Mr. 
Armadale's rescue from the sea is or is riot the 
welcome news that it ought to be to his wife!' 
That was enough to put his withered old face 
in a glow, and to set his withered old hopes 
growing again. I had only to add : 4 If you 
will do what I ask you to do, no matter how 
incomprehensible and how mysterious my re- 
quest may seem to be ; and if you will accept 
my assurances that you shall run no risk your- 
self, and that you shall have the proper expla- 
nations at the proper time, you will have such 
a claim on my gratitude and my regard as no 
man living has ever had yet !' I had only to say 
these words, and to point them by a look and a 
stolen pressure of his hand, and I had him at 
my feet, blindly eager to obey me. If he could 
have seen what I thought of myself — but that 
doesn't matter : he saw nothing. 

"Hours have passed since I sent him away 
(pledged to secrecy, possessed of his instruc- 
tions, and provided with his time-table) to the 
hotel near the terminus, at which he is to stay 
till Armadale appears on the railway platform. 
The excitement of the earlier part of the even- 
ing has all worn off, and the dull, numbed sen- 
sation has got me again. Are my energies 
wearing out, I wonder, just at the time when I 
most want them? Or is some foreshadowing 
of disaster creeping over me which I don't yet 
understand ? 

" I might be in a humor to sit here for some 
time longer, thinking thoughts like these, and 
letting them find their way into words at their 

own will and pleasure — if my Diary would only 
let me. But my idle pen has been busy enough 
.to make its way to the end of the volume. I 
have reached the last morsel of space left on 
the last page ; and whether I like it or not, I 
must close the book this time for good and all 
when I close it to-night. 

"Good-by, my old friend and companion of 
many a miserable day! Having nothing else 
to be fond of, I half suspect myself of having 
been unreasonably fond of you. 

"What a fool I am!" 





On the night of the second of December Mr. 
Bashwood took up his post of observation at the 
terminus of the South Eastern Railway for the 
first time. It was an earlier date, by six days, 
than the date which Allan had himself fixed for 
his return. But the doctor, taking counsel of 
his medical experience, had considered it just 
probable that " Mr. Armadale might be perverse 
enough, at his enviable age, to recover sooner 
than his medical advisers might have antici- 
pated." For caution's sake, therefore, Mr. 
Bashwood was instructed to begin watching the 
arrival of the tidal trains on the day after he 
had received his employer's letter. 

From the second to the seventh of December 
the steward waited punctually on the platform, 
saw the trains come in, and satisfied himself, 
evening after evening, that the travelers were 
all strangers to him. From the second to the 
seventh of December Miss Gwilt (to return to 
the name under which she is best known in 
these pages) received his daily report, some- 
times delivered personally, sometimes sent by 
letter. The doctor, to whom the reports were 
communicated, received them in his turn with 
unabated confidence in the precautions that had 
been adopted up to the morning of the eighth. 
On that date the irritation of continued sus- 
pense had produced a change for the worse in 
Miss Gwilt's variable temper, which was per- 
ceptible to every one about her, and which, 
strangely enough, was reflected by an equally 
marked change in the doctor's manner when he 
came to pay his usual visit. By a coincidence 
so remarkable that his enemies might have sus- 
pected it of not being a coincidence at all, the 
morning on which Miss Gwilt lost her patience 
proved to be also the morning on which the 
doctor lost his confidence for the first time. 

"No news, of course," he said, sitting down 
witli a heavy sigh. " Well ! well !" 

Miss Gwilt looked up at him irritably from 
her work. 

"You seem strangely depressed this morning," 
she said. "What are you afraid of now ?" 



"The imputation of being afraid, madam," 
answered the doctor, solemnly, "is not an im- 
putation to cast rashly on any man— even when 
he belongs to suclran essentially UdSWAft] pro- 
fession as mine. I am not afraid. I am II 
vou more correctly put it in the first instan t 
strangely depressed. My nature If, U y. u 
know, naturally sanguine, nnd I only sec to- 
day what, but for my habitual hopefulness, I 
might have seen, and ought to have htd, a 
week since." 

Miss Gwilt impatiently threw down her work. 
"If words cost money," she said, "the luxury 
of talking, doctor, would be rather nn expensive 
luxury in your case !" 

"Which I mi-ht have m • n, and <•:,;'• : 
have seen," pursued the doctor, without taking 
the slightest notice of the interrupts n, "a 
week since. To put it plainly, I feel by no 
means so crtain as I did thai Mr. Armadale 
will consent without a struggle to the terms 
which it is my interest (nnd in n minor degree 
yours) to iin|K>sc on him. Observe! I don't 
question our entrapping him successfully into 
the Sanatorium — I only doubt whether be will 
prove quite as manageable as I originally an- 
ticipated when we have got him there. Say," 
remarked the doctor, raining bis eye* for the 
first time, nnd fixing them in steady inquiry on 
Miss Gwilt; "say that be is bold, obstinate, 
what you please ; and tjiat he holds out — holds 
out for weeks together, for months together, a* 
men in similar situations to bis have held out 
before htm. What follows? The risk of keep- 
ing him forcibly in concealment— of suppressing 
him, if I may so express myself — increases at 
comjKHind interest, ami becomes Knormous! 
My house is, at this moment, virtually ready for 
patients. Patients may present themselves in a 
week's time. Patient* may communicate with 
Mr. Armadale, or Mr. Armadale may communi- 
cate with patients. A note may U« smuggled 
out of the bouse and may reach the Commis- 
sioners in Lunacy. Even in the cam of an un- 
licensed establishment like mine, those gentle- 
men — no! those chartered despots in a land of 
liberty — have only to apply to the Lord Chan- 
cellor for an order and to enter (by Heavens, to 
enter My Sanatorium!) nnd search it from top 
to bottom at n moment s notice I I don't wish 
to despond ; I don't wish to alarm you ; I don't 
pretend to s ;v that the means we are taking to 
secure our own safety nre any other than the 
best means at our disposal. All I ask you to 
do is to imagine the Commissioners in the 
house — and then to conceive the consequences. 
The consequences !" repe aled the doctor, getting 
stonily on his feet, and taking up his hat us if 
he meant to leave the house. 

"Have vou anv thing more to sav ?" asked 
Kiss ilt- 

Have you any remarks," rejoined the doctor, 
" to offer on your side ':" 

He stood hat in hand, waiting. For n full 
minute the two looked at each other in silence. 

Miss Gwilt spoke first 

"I think I understand you," she said, .sud- 
denly recovering her composure. 

' I l>cg your pardon," returned the doctor, 
with Ids ban i t.i his ear. "What did you 

say t* 

"If you happened to catch another fly thi< 
morning.'" said Miss Gwilt, with a bitterly sar- 
castic emphasis on the words. " I might U« eaj a- 
blc of shocking you by another ' little joke. "' 

The doctor held up both hands, in polite dep- 
recation, and looked as if he was beginning t<> 
recover his good-humor again. 

" Hard." he murmured gently, "not to have 
forgiven me that unlucky blunder of mine even 
jet r 

" What else have you to tny ? I nm waiting 
for vou," said Mis* Qt ilt- She turned her chair 
to the window, scornfully, and took up her work 
again as she spoke. 

The doctor came behind her and put hit 

" I hare a question to ask. in the first place,*' 

me with your attention I will put the question 

" I am listening.** 

" You know that Mr. Armadale is alire,*' pur* 
sued the doctor; "and you know that he is 
coming l«ck to England. Why do you con- 
tinue to wear Tour widow's drr-»?" 

She antweral him without an in-tnnt's hesi- 

" Ilccauso 1 am of n sanguine di«|«*ition, 

like vou," she said. "I mean to trust to the 

chapter of aeeidents to the very la»L Mr. Ar- 
i i |. » . § ^ _ . , 

"And suppose ho gets home alire — what 

then ?• 

"Then there Is another chance still left." 

"What it it. nrayr 

" He may die in your Sanatorium." 

"Madam!" remarked the doctor, in the deep 
bast which ho reserved for his outburst* of vir- 
tuous indignation. "Stop! yon spoke of the 
chapter of aeeidents," he resumed, gliding back 
into his softer conversational tones. "Yet! 
yes! of course. I understand you thit time. 
Even the healing art is at the mercy of accidents 
— even My Sanatorium, otherwise the Fort rest 
of Health, is liable at any day to be surprised 
by Death. Just so! just so!" said the doctor, 
conceding the questions with the utmost impar- 
tiality. "There i* the chapter of accidents, I 
admit — if you choose to trust to it. Mind! I 
say emphatically, //'you choose to trust to it." 

There was another moment of silence — silence 
so profound that nothing was audible in the 
room but the rapid efofc of Miss Gwilt's needle 
through her work. 

"Go on." she said ; " von haven't d< nc yet." 

"True!" said the doctor. " Having put my 
question. I have my measure of precaution to 
impress on you next. You will *cc, my dear 



madam, that I am not disposed to trust to the 
chapter of accidents on my side. Reflection has 
convinced me that you and I are not (locally 
speaking) so conveniently situated as we might 
be, in case of emergency Cabs are, as yet, rare 
in this rapidly-improving neighborhood. I am 
a quarter of an hour's walk from you ; you are 
a quarter of an hour's walk from me. I know 
nothing of Mr. Armadale's character ; you know 
it well. It might be necessary — vitally neces- 
sary — to appeal to your superior knowledge of 
him at a moment's notice. And how am I to 
do that unless we are within easy reach of each 
other, under the same roof? For both our in- 
terests, I beg to invite you, my dear madam, to 
become for a limited period an inmate of My 

Miss Gwilt's rapid needle suddenly stopped. 
"I understand you," she said again, as quietly 
as before. 

"I beg your pardon," said the doctor, with 
another attack of deafness, and with his hand 
once more at his ear. 

She laughed to herself — a low, terrible laugh, 
which startled even the doctor into taking his 
hand off the back of her chair. 

"An inmate of your Sanatorium?" she re- 
peated. "You consult appearances in every 
thing else — do you propose to consult appear- 
ances in receiving me into your house ?" 

"Most assuredly!" replied the doctor, with 
enthusiasm. "I am surprised at your asking 
me the question! Did you ever know a man 
of the highest eminence in my profession who 
set appearances at defiance ? If you honor me 
by accepting my invitation, you enter My Sana- 
torium — " 

"In what character?" 

"In the most unimpeachable of all possible 
characters," replied the doctor. "In the char- 
acter of — a Patient." 

"When do you want my answer?" 

" Can you decide to-day ?" 
-"No, " 

" To-morrow ?" 

"Yes. Have you any thing more left to 

Nothing more." 

"Leave me then. I don't keep up appear- 
ances. I wish to be alone — and I say so. Good- 

"Oh, the sex! the sex!" said the doctor, 
with his excellent temper in perfect working 
order again. " So delightfully impulsive ! so 
charmingly reckless of what they say, or how 
they say it! 'Oh, woman, in our hours of 
ease, coy, diffident, and hard to please !' There ! 
there? there! Good-morning!" 

Miss Gwilt rose and looked after him from 
the window, when the street-door had closed 
and he had left the house. 

"Armadale himself drove me to it the first 
time," she said. "Manuel drove me to it the 
second time. — You cowardly scoundrel ! shall I 
let you drive me to it for the third time and the 

She turned from the window and looked 
thoughtfully at her widow's .dress in the glass. 

The hours of the day passed — and she de- 
cided nothing. The night came — and she hes- 
itated still. The new morning dawned — and 
the terrible question was still unanswered, Yes 
or No. 

By the early post there came a letter for her. 
It was Mr. Bashwood's usual report. Again he 
had watched for Allan's arrival, and again in 

"I'll have more time!" she said to herself, 
passionately. "No man alive shall hurry me 
faster than I like !" 

At breakfast that morning (the morning of 
the ninth) the doctor was surprised in his study 
at the Sanatorium by a visit from Miss Gwilt. 

" I want another day," she said, the moment 
the servant had closed the door on her. 

The doctor looked at her before he answered, 
and saw the danger of driving her to extremi- 
ties plainly expressed in her face. 

"The time is getting on," he remonstrated, 
in his most persuasive manner. ' ' For all we 
know to the contrary, Mr. Armadale may be 
here to-night." 

"I want another day!" she repeated, loudly 
and passionately. 

"Granted!" said the doctor, looking nerv- 
ously toward the door. "Don't be too loud — 
the servants may hear you. Mind !" he added, 
"I depend on your honor not to press me for 
any further delay." 

" You had better depend on my despair," she 
said — and left him. 

The doctor chipped the shell of his egg, and 

"Quite right, my dear!" he said. "I re- 
member where your despair led you in past 
times ; and I think I may trust it to lead you 
the same way now." 

At a quarter to eight that night Mr. Bashwood 
took up his post of observation, as usual, on the 
platform of the terminus at London Bridge. 

He was in the highest good spirits ; he smiled 
and smirked in irrepressible exultation. The 
sense that he held in reserve a means of influ- 
ence over Miss Gwilt, in virtue of his knowl- 
edge of her past career, had had no share in 
effecting the transformation that now appeared 
in him. It had upheld him in his forlorn life 
at Thorpe-Ambrose, and it had given him that 
increased confidence of manner which Miss 
Gwilt herself had noticed; but it had vanished 
as a motive power in him from the moment that 
had restored him to Miss Gwilt's favor — it had 
vanished, annihilated by the electric shock of 
her touch and her look. His vanity — the van- 
ity which in men at his age is only despair in 
disguise — had now lifted him to the seventh 
heaven of fatuous happiness once more. He 
believed in her again as he believed in the smart, 
new winter over-coat that he wore — as he be- 
lieved in the dainty little cane (appropriate to 
the dawning dandyism of lads in their teens) 


that he flourished in his hand. Eh hummed— 
the worn-out old creature who had not sunn 
since his childhood— hummed, as lie paced the 
platform, the few fragments he could remember 
of a worn-out old song. 

The train was due ns early M eLht o'clock 
that night. At five minutes past the hour the 
whistle sounded. In less than five minutes 
more the passengers were getting out ou the 

Following the instructions that had been given 
to him, Mr. Bash wood made his way as wo 11 M 
the crowd would let him along the line i f < ir- 
riages ; and discovering no familiar face on that 
first investigation, joined the passing 
second scarcli among them in the custom-house 
waiting-room next. 

lie had looked round the room, and had sat- 
isfied himself that the persons occupying it were 
all strangers, when he heard u voice behind him, 
exclaiming, "Can that l»c Mr. Hash wood !" 

lie turned in eager expectation, nnd found 
himself face to fa< ft with the la-t Ml under 
heaven w hom he had exj>ccted to «o. 

The man was — Miowinti :. ! 


XOTW ITH ST A X I >I XG the current reprc. 
scntations as to the privation* and hard- 
ships of tin* denizens of the Confederate capi- 
tal, life in Richmond during the war was not 
altogether one of disc. .ml". : ■ . A - t • .: 
wants, almost every thing Air their supply, not 
only as to necessaries hut luxuries could l»e 
had, if one only had the money, and fortunately 
Confederate notes were almost as abundant as 
"leaves in Valhimbro*n." True, the war rest- 
ed like a heavy incubus upon the heart; but 
even that in time we became used to ; and there 
never was the terror and apprehension for the 
safety of the city which outsiders probably sup- 
posed. General Leo and his army were between 
tis and danger; and that wm enough to quiet 
all fears. So that we could hear tho thunder 
of battle so near it mod almost in the 
city, and still move on in our usual occupations 
without much uneasiness as to how it would 

Indeed there was even an amount of ga 
which seemed altogether untimely. Kx|*-us- 
ivc parties, balls private theatricals, and other 
amusements al>ounded. Richmond never was 
gayer than during the winter of 1m'.4-<;.">; so 
much so, indeed, that the elerpymen of the va- 
rious denominations felt called BOOB to remon- 
strate from the pulpit ; while the more religious 
portion of the population were stimulated, by 
way of counteracting the evil tendencies nnd of 
averting the judgments of Heaven, to be still 
more attentive on the daily prayer meetings, 
which often filled the largest churches, and seem- 
ed characterized by great devontness and fervor. 

The spring of 1886 found things much in this 
condition. One day, not long before the Con- 
federate Congress adjourned, I happens*! to cast 

mv eye toward the Capitol building, and saw 
that the Hag raised to indicate that they were 
in session had by mistake been put up that day 
bottom upward, aud was in fact 4 * I'nion down," 
the signal of distress. Supcrstiti< us niim'.s might 
have read in this apparent omen the coming 
doom of the Confederacy ; but few, if any, took 
that view. 

Occasionally expressions were heard from in- 
dividuals indicative that their confidence and 
hope were failing them. One very intelligent 
and well known gentleman so entirely lost heart 
that it became a matter of common remark and 
somewhat of merriment. Hut tho most discour- 
aging person I encountered was a mender of tho 
State Legislature of high standing, who bad evi- 
dently "given up." Meeting with him at a 
friend's one evening, his conversation was almost 
entirely on that subject. Among other things 
ho state. I. sut»*tantiallv, that General Lee had 
been before a Committee of the Senate, 1 think 
the previous November, and had stated that ho 
could bold out if he could be reinforced with somo 
twenty thouaand fresh truopa ; that in February 
— three months after — before that or a similar 
committee. General Lee had Mated that if ho 
had fifty thousand reinforcements ho could main- 
tain hi* ground; but that ho bad neither re* 
ccircd the fifty thousand nor the twenty thou- 
sand, but had lo*t by »ickne»a and desertion ; so 
that the inference was irreaistiblo that ho could 
not hold hi* ground. Such statements were dis- 
couraging; but perhapa the impression made on 
most of tho auditors was »implv that that man 

Kumors had, it is true, !**rn coming from tho 
army that the men were losing heart; that pa- 
tient and enduring a« they had shown them- 
selves, there was a limit oven to their powers ; 
that they coatd not suffer on, and starve on, and 
fight on, year after year interminably, and that, 
■pert of anv increment of 
eat tho constantly accurmi- 
ning forces they were railed 
was, indeed, but too much 
mil her said: and one could 

too, without the 

not help feeling that such a struggle could not 
be protracted very much longer— especially, too, 
in view of the constantly increasing scarcity of 
food, and the equally alarming fuilure of the fa- 
cilities of transportation. Still, we bad been en- 
abled to hold out so fur against what might have 
been regarded ns im|>ossibilities ; aud wo hoped 
it might continue to be so. 

The first Sabbath in April, 1866, dawned upon 
ns in this state of things. It was a bright, pleas- 
ant day. The churches were full — as they gen- 
erally were — and the ministers gave their people 
such truth as they considered most appropriate. 
At the church which I attendee the text and 
sermon seemed almost prophetic. The words of 
Scripture were, 44 What I do thou knowest not 
now, but thou shalt know hereafter;" and the 
object of the discourse was to render the hearers 
resigned and contented under even the most mys- 
terious and unwelcome allotments of 1'rovidcncc. 



The sermon over, the congregation joined in the 
Doxology to Old Hundred, accompanied by the 
grand notes of the organ, and then reverently 
dispersed. That was the last service ever to be 
held there under the Confederate Government. 
As I was passing out through the vestibule two 
friends came up, and said they wondered what 
could be going on ; that there must be some- 
thing of unusual importance ; that the Presi- 
dent and some of the other high functionaries 
had been sent for out of church ; and that there 
was evidently some exciting news. 

On leaving the church-door I saw a bank of- 
ficer meet another one for whom he appeared to 
have been in search, and as I passed them I 
heard a few words indicative of trouble. Just 
then espying a young man whose connection 
with the Government ought to make him ac- 
quainted with any important intelligence, I ask- 
ed him what it was that was producing such a 
ferment. He replied that he was not at liberty 
to communicate what he knew, but that there 
had been terrible fighting near Petersburg. 
"Favorable or unfavorable ?" 
"So far as we have heard not favorable." 
Then, in a subdued voice, he added, "I'll tell 
you that I shouldn't be surprised if we are all 
away from here before twenty-four hours." 

This was news indeed ! No wonder the Pres- 
ident hurried out of church, and no wonder bank 
officers held solemn council. 

Returning to the house of the friends with 
whom I was sojourning, and believing that 
there need be and could be no longer any se- 
crecy about such events, I mentioned at the din- 
ner-table what had been told me. The ladies 
were greatly agitated and distressed — appre- 
hending violence from the dreaded "Yankees," 
and also lamenting the separation which the 
withdrawal of the Confederate army would make 
between them and their young relatives who 
were in it. In a moment the deep pall of un- 
certainty and gloom was cast over every thing. 
What scenes that day or the next would dis- 
close, who could tell ? 

Before we had arisen from dinner one of the 
young gentlemen of the family connected with 
a government bureau came in, with a counte- 
nance indicative of serious work, asking that 
his trunk might be gotten, and adding that they 
were to be off at six o'clock that evening — that 
the city was to be evacuated ! This was the 
signal for every one of our little company to be 
on the move to save what he could. Silver- 
ware was quickly collected for hiding ; watches 
were gathered up to be sent away ; spoons and 
forks likewise ; and every preparation, practica- 
ble in the short time and amidst the excitement 
and confusion, made for the speedily anticipated 

In the course of the afternoon a relative of 
the writer came over from Petersburg, bringing 
us the first definite news of the breaking of the 
Confederate lines, and the disaster General 
Lee's army had experienced. Of the full ex- 
tent of it, however, he was not aware. From 

his telling us that the tobacco warehouses had 
been burned to prevent the tobacco from falling 
into the Federal hands, we knew that Peters- 
burg was gone. 

About nine o'clock in the evening, the young 
man already referred to not having got off as 
soon as he had expected, came in and told my 
relative, who was anxious to get to his family 
up the country, that his only chance was to go 
to the depot immediately, that the last Confed- 
erate trains would leave in the course of the 
night, and that to-morrow all intercourse would 
be cut off. Being better acquainted than my 
friend, and knowing he would encounter diffi- 
culties, I went with him to the depot. Arrived 
there, we encountered a file of soldiers obstruct- 
ing the entrance, and the officer in command 
positively refusing admittance to any one who 
had not a pass from the Secretary of War. But 
that condition was an impossibility. Finding 
the Secretary of War, under such circumstances, 
would indeed be "like hunting a needle in a 
hay-stack." There was no other way, therefore, 
than just to stand our ground, hoping that some- 
thing might " turn up." Numerous were the ar- 
rivals Avhile we stood there, multitudinous the 
applications, appeals, and remonstrances, but 
all to no purpose. The man of the "stars" 
was inexorable. 

In the course of an hour or two one of the 
trains moved off. "There goes the President 
and his Cabinet." And sure enough they were 
gone ; and that was the last of the Confederate 
Government in its capital. The Argus-eyed 
sentinels must have a little relaxed their vigi- 
lance after this, for my friend, who had been 
on a rcconnoissance, soon came back with the 
report that he had found a place where we could 
flank the guards and get into the depot. This 
we accomplished. But here a new difficulty 
had to be encountered. We could find no ad- 
mittance into the cars. There were numerous 
trains — all, I believe, rough box cars — waiting 
their turn to go. One after another of them 
we applied to, but in vain. One was the Treas- 
ury Department, another the Quarter-Master's 
Department, another the Telegraph Depart- 
ment, and so on. Most of them contained la- 
dies as well as gentlemen. " Can't we get in 
here?" "No! Impossible! we're crowded to 
suffocation." Passing on to another : "Won't 
you just let one gentleman in here ? His home 
and family are up the country, and he is anx- 
ious to get to them." "No, no ! we're too full 
already. This car is marked for 14,500 pounds, 
and we have 18,000 in it now. We'll break 
down before we get five miles." 

We were about giving up in despair, when 
there hove in sight a man with a lantern, escort- 
ing two gentlemen, whom he evidently intended 
to put into one of the cars. "Now," said I to 
my friend, " be on the alert, and when he push- 
es those two up I'll push you immediately fol- 
lowing, as if one of the party." We did so, and 
succeeded. They found out the ruse, it is true, 
and I heard them berating my friend as an in- 


truder ; but having the 14 nine points of the lew," 
lie held his ground. Many ■ day clapped before 
I heard what became of. him; b«l I had tbe Mft» 
isfaction of seeing him safely out of Kiehmond, 
For I stood there until his train was gone, and 
indeed until all were gone. One after another 
they rolled olT; the guards dispelled ; and the 

depot was forsaken and desolate, never more to ernmcnt 

be visited by Confederates. did that 

Some were very slow to realize what was g.>- About li 

ing on. While engaged in our efforts to get a was awal 

place in the cars a clerical friend came up, and, mendous 

recognizing us in the dark, asked if there was and slopl 

any chance of getting away. He said that he I wu an 

had been preaching down on the lines some six I 

or seven miles below the city, and that in the writhe a 
afternoon the colonel of the regiment where 
was advised bin; that lie had !>ettcr go up 

Kiehmond. This, In \\ < vcr, our fi it nd DOt a ish- federate 

ing to do, and finding that the colonel seemed pin of I 

to be getting his command ready to move, he c\cr-mc 

thought he would go over to another point on burst ot 

the lines and sj»end the night there. Hut on fin* to | 

arriving there he found that they also were go- to the ei 

ing to Richmond. As he now had no place to ride con 

stay, he concluded, though reluctantly, to go acros* |] 

along. As they advanced tho numbers tend* borg Ita 

ing that way thickened, but still for sotno lime speedily 

he did not sec the true state of the case, and it of tho d 

was not until he was half-way to Kiehmond that fearful r 

the unwelcome truth at la-t lla>hcd uj« n him. ( nnder w, 
He was under the influence of this fresh discor. , said, acr 

cry when he encountered us in the d< \- t — hi* shell*, a 

mental perturbation* by no means aliased by j ammuni 

the strugglo to get ofT, nud partieularlr br tl.c Imstiblc* 

fact that whei I pushed him up into the same stantanc 

ear into which I had thrust my relative- they re- cannona 

pelled him ; so that when I la*l ».iw him ho was and la»ti 

in a most disconsolate and lu>|«dc»s condition. I magi 

But ho must have got off after all, as I heard and anti 

of him afterward in North Carolina. nc~%* pari 

During our long tarrying at the depot one of manubr 

thc batteries from l»clow — the last, it was said— ■ world), « 

came up, carrying torches and cheering, I sup- ' one sea < 

l»osc to keep their spirits up. They moved ofT rontinuo 

over the bridge, thus completing the departure tho midi 

of the entire army from our side of tho river, armv cnl 

and thus completing also the abandonment of and voa 

the capital of the Southern Confederacy. wen- the 

The curtain had now fallen on one act of the April, II 

stupendous drama ; it\\a-.- • :i : ii«c<nvthat ' <> ;r u 

in its opening at least, would prove even more ! avail the 

striking and impressive. Hut the interval be- mond as 

tween the two acts was one of painful suspense, ing bcfoi 

The Government and armv which for vears had am I 

guarded and protected us was gone ; that other for the c 

army which had been stretching out its hands business 

in vain to grasp this BKMl coveted prize— that I noon nfw 
army which had come so near that thev could 
hear our church-bells and wc could see the flash 
and smoke of their guns— that army which 1 m 1 
been so repeatedly foiled, and with such ■ f« die- 
appointment and terrible slaughter— that arm v, 
probably by this time exasperated and infuriated 
to the last degree, was to be upon u* with the 
dawn of the coming day, and wc helplcsslv at 

their mercy. What will be the fat© of this U-ati- 
tiful city ? what the fate of these hitherto happy 
homes ? what the fate of these noble-hearted and 
lovely women ? The accounts which we had 
received of the burning and pillage of Columbia 
were fre>h in our minds. 

After seeing the last of the Confederate Got- 
ernmcnt I did what not verv manv in Itiehmmnl 

four o'clock in the morium* I 

id. The c 

nd. This was tl 
rate magazine; i 
of the ancust an 

fairly to 
cd like a 

it the dc^ 

ing up of tho 
is was the or* 
me pageant of 
n after the fl 

lofty i\ 

»cnt set to wo 

• wn nrnv 

ijr's; the in 

that third dav of 

»rm, went down to his place of 

kecs** were in the city, he had se^n the first of 
them pass up Main Street. It would be impos- 
sible to convev to anv one not of our war of 

by that piece of int. 
ment and regret, the 
been looking and h 
through wearv years 

u that all we had 



had most deprecated had come ; that our mor- 
tal foe was at last in the fruition of the spoils he 
had most desired ; that the fortunes of war had 
made him our master, and placed us in the po- 
sition of a conquered people. Such thoughts, 
mingled with anxiety as to what was to be our 
fate, flowed freely through our minds when as- 
sured beyond all doubt that "the Yankees" were 
in the city. 

Notwithstanding the uncertainty as to how 
far it would be safe for a citizen to venture out, 
I determined to make the experiment, and see 
what was to be seen. Never expecting and 
fervently hoping never again to have the oppor- 
tunity to see a victorious army enter a conquered 
capital, I was willing to run some risk. More- 
over, I wished if possible to save some valuable 
papers I had down town from what now threat- 
ened to be an almost unlimited conflagration. 

I found the streets thronged with the black 
population, but almost absolutely and literally 
forsaken by the whites. Richmond seemed in a 
night to have been transformed into an African 
city. On getting down as far as the Powhatan 
House, opposite the Capitol, I at length espied 
one white man, and as he proved to be an old 
acquaintance I joined him, and we stood to- 
gether in the piazza looking on at the spectacle. 
The United States flag was floating from the 
Capitol — a sight which had not been seen for 
many a day ; but instead of taking the place of 
the Confederate flag, it was put up, through 
some mistake, on the opposite end of the build- 
ing, thus occupying the place of the State flag ; 
and thus, as some facetiously suggested, unin- 
tentionally symbolizing the triumph of Federal 
centralized power over States Rights. The au- 
thorities were probably never apprised of the 
faux pas, inasmuch as the Stars and Stripes 
were still waving over the old Virginia end of 
the building when I left, some weeks after- 

Some of the troops had stacked their arms in 
the Capitol Square, and were gazing curiously 
around; others were marching thither through 
the street before us. The latter attracted much 
attention from the colored crowds who thronged 
the sidewalks. I watched with some interest 
the swarthy spectators, anxious to see how they 
regarded the advent of those whose coming 
promised to introduce them to liberty and po- 
litical equality. A large portion of them — very 
much the largest, I think — simply looked on, 
as upon any other novel and remarkable spec- 
tacle. Here and there a man waved his hat 
and huzzaed. The most marked demonstra- 
tions were the shaking of hands by those near- 
est with the passing troops, much of which was 
done. Some of the women courtesied and bowed 
at a great rate. One little weazened-faced old 
woman, her head crowned with, a conical tur- 
ban, seized a soldier's hand in both of hers, and 
shaking it up and down like a pump-handle, 
said, " Welcum, masta! you's welcum ! Glad 
to see you, Sah — glad to see you ! Thank de 
Lord, desc hands do no mo' wurk !" A condi- 

tion of elegant and luxurious repose was the 
happy consummation to which she congratu- 
lated herself this glorious day was to introduce 

Becoming after a while sufficiently assured 
to venture beyond our post of observation in 
the Powhatan piazza, I pushed through the 
swarthy crowd around into Governor Street, 
just opposite the Governor's house. Scarcely 
had I reached this point when the first body 
of colored cavalry came moving up the hill. 
Their appearance called forth a greeting from 
their brethren in the streets. No sooner had 
the cavalry fairly comprehended by whom they 
were surrounded than they returned the greet- 
ing with a will, rising in their stirrups, waving 
their flashing sabres, their white eyes and teeth 
gleaming from rows of dark visages, and rend- 
ing the air with wild huzzas. Considering 
that they had been slaves, that they were sud- 
denly released and armed, and that they were 
now entering our city as conquerors, one could 
not look upon these men without a shudder at 
the possible impending horrors. 

Passing on down Governor Street I persevered 
until I reached Main Street. Here the specta- 
cle again was most remarkable. The progress 
of the fire rendered it certain that the contents 
of the stores and shops would be destroyed, and 
hence, possibly, the throngs of negroes set to 
the work of helping themselves to whatever they 
liked. Here would come one rolling before 
him a barrel of flour; here another with a bag 
of coffee or sugar upon his back; another with 
a bag full of shoes ; another with four or five 
bolts of cotton cloth on his head; another with 
a bolt of woolen goods under his arm ; a woman 
with an armful of hoop-skirts ; a girl with a 
box of spool thread — and so on through the 
crowd. But yesterday these articles — run at 
great risk and expense through the blockade — 
were bringing fabulous prices ; to-day he who 
wills may have them for the carrying away. 
Never in the history of Richmond were the 
colored population so well stocked with neces- 
saries and luxuries. 

Continuing to thread my way through the 
crowd, I reached the point on Main Street for 
which I was aiming. The papers I was in quest 
of were in a room on the fourth floor, which had 
to be reached through a store on the first-floor, 
a tailor's shop on the second, and so on. En- 
tering the store, whose doors were wide open, I 
saw no one but a colored man, who was filling 
a bag with shoes from the shelves, all the while 
talking to himself, and swearing he would have 
them. And have them he did, for there was no 
longer any one there to dispute his right. As- 
cending to the tailor's shop I found it deserted, 
and the rolls of cloth for which hundreds of dol- 
lars a yard had been asked lying there waiting 
to be burned up. While getting together my 
papers the flames burst through the windows 
opposite, and came lashing half-way across the 
street. There was no time to lose ; and as I 
emerged from the front-door the heated atmos- 



])liere was already most stifling. I cast ■ fare- 
well look up Main Street. The DUpatck and 
Enquirer newspaper offices were all in a Maze, 
the banks and the American Hotel were just 
catching, and from the doors and windows of 
some of the fashionable stores volumes of llame 
were bursting? 

Up to this time I do not rcmeml>cr to have 
seen a fire-engine at work. The young nun 
had left with the evacuating nrmv ; the older 
men, fearing pillage and violence to their fam- 
ilies, remained at home to do what thvy could 
to protect them; and consequently t! 
nobody to look after the fire. I myself went to 
one of the Federals, and told him that unless 
they went to work to anv-t t!. • conflagration 
the entire city would he swept away. BoOfl aft- 
er tho military authorities organized the crowds 
of blacks as a fire corps, and this with their 
own efforts, and tho steam-engines nt length 
brought to play, was instrumental in checking 
and ultimately stopping the tempest of lire. 
But all the forenoon, nnd till well on in the aft- 
ernoon, flame and smoke nnd burning brand* 
and showers of blazing sparks filled the air, 
spreading still further the destruction, until it 
had swept before it even- bank, cverv auction 
store, every insurance office, ncarlr everv com- 
mission house, and most of the fashionable stores, 
together with one of the prominent churches 
nnd, as before-mentioned, immense mills, man- 
ufactories, foundries, etc. Seldom has a citT 
in propo rti on to its |>opulatioii and wealth saY- ' 
fered so terribly. Sad, indeed, was the specta- 
cle afterward of those acres of ruin, and sadder 
that of the many worthy citizen* from whom 
the hard earnings of a lifetime had thus been 
wrested in an hour. 

Of all the days of my life that eventful nnd 
terriblo day seemed the longest. Not havinc 
my watch about me, I could not well jud «c the 
flight of time. At last, when I thought it must 
be toward four o'clock in tho aftcrneoa I in- 
quired the time, and found to my astonisttrm nt 
that it was only twelve o'clock. It 
it' that day would never end. 

Very agreeable was the disappointment at the 
behavior of the victorious nrmv. Whether it 
was because, notwithstanding all that had oc- 
curred, there was still some lingering feeling of 
respect for the capital of the Old Dominion, or 
whether the terrific calamity falling upon the 
city at the moment disarm- | a n pafpOM 
flict further injury, we could not tell j bat what 
most concerned us was the f.wt that, with few 
exceptions, the trooj* behaved nstonishiiMv 
well, and were remarkably courteous and re- 
spectful. Some cases of outrage were commit- 
ted in the suburbs, but every attempt of the 
sort in the city, of which I heard, was followed 
by condign punishment. 

The days w hieh followed that ever-memora- 
ble third of April were eminently days of leis- 
ure. Nobody had any thing to do. All busi- 
ness was brought to a sodden stand-still. J 
had any money ; my own stock amounted to an 

old-fashioned three -cent piece. Some of us 
spent most of the time sitting on the front steps 
talking oral the past, the present, and tin- ajaaj 
uncertain future. When occasionally a friend 
i as>ed we would call him in, or be would call 
himself— both parties happy to have some mode 
of relieving the tedium. As to the OOftfl 
aey, we gave that up with the fall of KichmOSsJ, 
thinking that General Lee would probablv fall 
back into the interior, and there, after OOMJ 1- 
dcrablc delay and worrying, mako the best 
terms for |»cacc on the basis of the Uaioji re- 
stored. Hut we did not anticipate so speed v a 
finality, nor of the sort which occurred. Va- 
rious rumors reached us from day to day of dis- 
asters to the Confederates ; but as these all 
came through oar conquerors wo gave them 
small credence. 

At length, one night my host informed mo 
that the sentinel near our door had just told 
him that General Lee had surrendered. Though 
we did not credit it, it seemed worth inquiring 
into. On further interrogation we were as- 
sured that the news was official ; and soon all 
remaining doubts were dispelled by tho sahot 
of artillery from the Capitol Square saluting tho 
tidings of the surrender of the Southern Army 
and Ihc downfall of the Southern Confederacy. 
Such an event una, of course, a crushing dis- 

untmcnt t 


»uo, inrotigh vcars ol sac- 
had staked their earthly 
the success of the cause; 
bo it said, m<»l of them 
in the event the voice of 

from what they had anticipated, thev knew that 
Ihc great Arbiter of all human affairs docs all 
things well, and that it was their duty humbly 
and cheerfully to acquiesce. Tho Government 
to which they had acknowledged allegiance for 
four tears being no more, and that under which 
they had previously lived U*ing now restored, 
there was but one course ot»cn, and that was to 
endeavor to prove themselves henceforth good 

I : 

Time will no doubt wear away the hostile 
feelings engendered by bloody war, and once 
more restore to terms of friendly intercourse 
those who were arrayed in this bitter, deadly 

progress of the dreadful drama, and in the his- 
tory which is to record them for coming gener- 
ations will stand, as not the least conspicuous, 
that which has formed the topic of the present 
sketch— ihc Fall of Richmond. 


MISS LKTITIA put aside the ill ml in aajtiiu 
from her window, and looked out. She 
bad just made her toilet for afternoon, and she 
was, as usual, neat almost to primness. Iler 
sombre gray dress was enlivened by no bits of 
bright-colored ribbon. It fell without a particle 



of trimming in soft folds to her feet. Her 
brown hair was brushed smoothly back from 
her still, thoughtful face— the face which the 
quiet dress and plain hair suited so well. There 
was no thread of silver in the tresses — not a 
wrinkle in the smooth skin, with its coloring 
delicate as that of sixteen. Yet, observing Miss 
Letitia closely, you would not have imagined 
for a moment that she was younger than the 
thirty-three years to which the town record of 
Danby bore witness. There was about her a 
perfect repose — the look of one who has ceased 
to expect, and learned not to hope — which I 
think no face ever wears in youth, unless it be, 
sometimes, that of an incurable invalid. 

Every one called her "Miss Letitia" — the 
days when she was "Letty" were gone with 
her lost girlhood. That 

"Something sweet, 
Which follows youth with flying feet," 

would never come back to her any more. There 
were graves in the church-yard on whose white 
stones were chiseled thfc names of her father 
and mother and her one brother. There was a 
deeper grave in her heart, over which no tomb- 
stone gleamed, where the tenderest hope of her 
life lay sleeping. Miss Letitia was all alone. 

But she had grown used to loneliness, and 
hardly knew how sad it was. She looked out 
on the landscape, bright with its earliest Oc- 
tober glories — hills crowned with trees whose 
boughs were touched with gold and flame — haze 
in the air — blue asters in the highway — golden- 
rod nodding at the gate. She heard a wind, 
slow, mournful, inexpressibly profound and ten- 
der, and sighed a little at the thought of long, 
still winter evenings to come. The dead hope 
in her heart rose from its deep grave, and stood 
beside her in all the glory of youth and grace — 
too dear a ghost of a past too dear ! This wind, 
which sighed and sung as if murmuring some 
weird incantation, had summoned as with a spell 
old, haunting memories, and familiar names 
rushed unbidden to the lone woman's lips. But 
she did not utter them — too many years had 
still face and quiet lips been learning the lesson 
of calmness. 

She was so tranced in thought that it seemed 
to her like a call from a strange outside world 
with which she had nothing to do — she sitting 
among her dreams — when the knocker on her 
front-door gave forth a sound, sharp yet uncer- 
tain, as if touched by a hand at once eager and 
timorous. She opened the door, and saw a child 
standing therewith wistful face — Deacon Parme- 
lee's little girl, sole fruit of his first marriage. 
Her own mother was in heaven, but her step- 
mother — the deacon's second wife — had been 
the one friend of Miss Letitia's early youth. 
Through all the gay, girlhood days Letitia Ma- 
son and Grace Anderson had been as insepara- 
ble as shadow and substance. Since they had 
grown past girlhood an unexplained coldness 
had seemed to arise between them. They were 
friends still — at least Grace, now Mrs. Parrae- 
lee, made fervent professions of friendship — only 
Vol. XXXIII— No. 193— G 


something was always happening to prevent their 
meeting, to hold them asunder. Miss Letitia 
wondered often whose fault it was. It seemed 
to her that the change dated as far back as the 
time when her old, well-beloved hope had died ; 
and she speculated now and then whether she 
could have been cold and careless to Grace in 
that time of grief, and so wounded her that 
they never could be quite the same to each oth- 
er any more. 

"Mother is very sick," said the voice of the 
little blue-eyed girl, waiting at the door, 4 'and 
she wants to have you come 'and see her, if you 
will be so kind, right off." 

"I will, indeed I will." And tears sprang to 
Miss Letitia's eyes, and her calm face quivered 
a little. She did not think of Mrs. Parmelee — 
a silent, grave woman, two years older than her- 
self — but of laughing Grace Anderson, with her 
merry ways, and petulant airs, and fervent ca- 
resses. Back through the years went her thoughts 
to the old time when they were both young, and 
so loved each other. She tied on her bonnet, 
and pinned her shawl, and hurried across the 
fields by the little girl's side. In half an hour 
she stood in the silent, shaded room where her 
old friend lay. 

When she came to the bedside she started 
with amazement. It seemed to her as if the 
years had turned backward, and the Grace of 
the old days were indeed with her again. The 
fever which was running riot in the sick wo- 
man's veins had restored more than the beauty 
of her youth. A clear, intense color flamed 
on her cheeks, and a strange light kindled her 
great dark eyes. Her hair was tossed back over 
the pillow, and her face wore an eager, long- 
ing, expectant look. When she saw Miss Le- 
titia at her bedside she grew excited. 

"You are come," she cried, "with kindness 
looking from your eyes. You won't smile at me 
when you go away. Leave us alone," and she 
made an imperious gesture to the nurse who sat 
at the foot of the bed. 

The woman arose quietly. 

"Mrs. Parmelee," she said, "it is most dan- 
gerous for you to excite yourself — I give you 
fair warning. I should not have permitted this 
interview on my own judgment ; but since the 
doctor consented to it the responsibility does not 
rest with me." 

Then she went out slowly, and the patient 
laughed — a shrill, strange laugh, which almost 
struck fear to the listener's heart. 

"Yes, the doctor knew I should die," she 
cried. "A little excitement more or less Avon't 
matter. I felt a week ago when I was taken 
that my time had come. I waited though, be- 
fore I sent for you, until other eyes besides my 
own could see that there wasn't the ghost of a 
chance left for my life." 

"Grace, dear," Miss Letitia said, soothingly, 
going back unconsciously to the phraseology of 
their young days, "don't talk so. People who 
are ill do not always die. There is hope for you 



"No! Do you think I don't know my own 
doom ? I tell you death has been nearer than 
any other watcher to my bedside ever since I've 
lain here. I should not have sent for you if I 
had not known there was no escape." 

"And why not for me?" Miss Letitia asked, 
with a gentle reproach in her voice. "Am I 
not your old friend, who has loved you all these 
years ?" 

"And who will hate me to-night," the other 
said, in a tone sadder and more hopeless than 
any words can describe. "I sent for you to 
confess a great wrong. I dare not die with it 
on my conscience, and carry it with me silently 
into the other world. Letitia, you loved Nelson 
Guthrie, and he loved you." 

Burning blushes swept up to Miss Letitia's 
pale cheeks — her heart seemed to stand still. 
She thought she could not bear any more. 

"Do not speak of that, Grace," she cried, 
wildly; "it is dead, that old dream. Let it 
rest in its grave !" 

"But I must speak, or /can not rest in mine. 
Letitia, I did love you ; but oh, I loved him so 
well ! I would have sold my soul for his love — 
did sell it, perhaps ; I do not know. / sepa- 
rated you — I, your friend, your sister, as you 
used to call me in those days. I made him 
think that you were deceiving him — that you 
loved some one else, and were not worthy of 
him. He was haughty and passionate, and I 
was crafty. I put a gulf between you that I 
knew you were too proud and he too angry to 
try to cross. Then my punishment began. I 
had hoped to win his love, expected he would 
turn to me in his disappointment, but my plan 
failed utterly. I think I had made myself hate- 
ful in his eyes by opening them, as he fancied, 
to the flaws in his idol. It was not a year be- 
fore he had married Margaret Cross. He did 
it, I know, in very desperation. He did not 
love her then, however it has been since. I 
think — I always thought — that if I had known 
of the marriage before it took place I should 
have gone to him and prevented it by telling 
the truth ; but I don't know — I might not have 
had the courage. At any rate, I heard nothing 
of it until the wedding was over, and then it was 
too late. 

"It was no longer in my power to make any 
reparation. It would do him no good to know 
what he had lost ; and I thought you would get 
over it easier to believe him false than to know 
how you had both been betrayed. So I made 
up my mind to carry the secret with me to my 
grave. But as years passed the burden grew 
heavy, and I wrote the whole story out, sealed 
it up, and put directions on the outside that it 
should be given to him after my death. I never 
meant, you see, that any one should know it 
until I was past the sound of earthly reproach- 
es So I went on, and tried to treat you as 
your old friend might — grown older and colder 
with time, but your friend still — I meant to go 
on so to the end." 

"Oh, I wish you had, I wish you had!" 

burst like a moan from Miss Letitia's quivering 

" I think I felt worse about it than ever, after 
I married the deacon. I didn't love him. That 
was over for me — the fierce flame had burned 
out and left my heart waste and sere. Nothing 
earthly could ever kindle it again. I married 
because it seemed a good thing to do ; and then 
I was so lonely I wanted something to fill up 
my long days. But after a while I began to . 
see how good the deacon was — how true he 
was — how honest and upright. The spirit of 
his life seemed to haunt and accuse me contin- 
ually. I began — seeing the distance between 
us — to feel what it was to be a lost soul. I be- 
lieve these thoughts, which have had strong pos- 
session of me all summer, brought on my fever. 
They were with me until it got to seem that 
every wind was the reproving voice of God, 
and every sunbeam a ray from his reproachful 
eye. I grew sick at last, and I knew death was 
coming. Letitia, I dared not die until I had 
told you. I can offer no atonement — I do not 
expect you will forgive me. If you could I 
should not fear so much to go out into the 

She shook with a dumb, shivering terror, and 
then lay still, uttering no farther entreaty, speak- 
ing no word more — only fixing her great dark 
eyes on the woman she had wronged, with a 
look in their depths so full of anguish and sup- 
plication that it was mightier than words. 

Miss Letitia seemed dumb, as one turned 
suddenly to marble. She had loved Nelson 
Guthrie with her life's one love ; and this wo- 
man lying here had separated them — taken away 
her bread and given her a stone — darkened her 
sunshine — reft from her all the hope and prom- 
ise of her existence. Could she forgive ? Did 
God require it of her? And yet — to-morrow 
it might be too late to speak her forgiveness. 
"Would she have a lost soul wailing in wordless 
anguish at her side for evermore? Must she 
not forgive even this — lend to the parting spirit 
what she might of ease and comfort — if she 
hoped in her turn to be forgiven of God ? Aft- 
er all, now that she knew the uttermost — knew 
that when all things should be made clear she 
would stand fair and honored in her old love's 
sight — ought she not to find it easy to forgive a 
wrong bounded by the compass of this earthly 
life ? "What if, in loneliness and sorrow, she 
must go down to her grave — she knew now 
that he Avhom she loved had not been false or 
unworthy — that she need not turn away from 
him when he should come to her side in the 
world of spirits. She looked into the beseech- 
ing eyes which met hers, as the deacon's wife 
cried out again, rent by the anguish of her sus- 
pense — 

" Speak to me — your silence tortures me. 
Let me know my doom. Forgive me, or curse 
me !" 

Miss Letitia bent over her, and took in her 
own the hand burning with fever. 

" Yes," she said, slowly, " I forgive you. 



You made ray life a burden — you took away 
from me all that I cared for in this world, but 
I pity you in this hour when your sin has found 
you out, and I forgive you. I will pray for you 
to the God whose love is infinite — whose com- 
passion is boundless. Your soul is not lost. 
You shall not die without hope." 

"You forgive me? You are sure? You 
can ask mercy for me of God ? He will hear 
your prayer — yours, whom I have injured. I 
will hope — O God, is it not too late ?" 

"The promise fails not, even at the eleventh 
hour," Miss Letitia murmured, with a solemn 
sweetness in her voice. 

Just then a strong, firm step sounded in the 
yard, and the sick woman started eagerly. 

"It is the deacon," she said; "he is com- 
ing, and we shall have but a moment more. 
Go to that desk in the corner — the key is in it. 
You will see, in the little drawer at the right, 
the packet directed to Nelson Guthrie. Take 
it away and read it. It will make all the par- 
ticulars clear. When I am dead send it to him, 
and then he will understand us both." 

Trembling in every limb Miss Letitia did her 
bidding, and went back to the bedside with the 
packet in her hand. 

"Yes, that is it; and there is the Deacon's 
step on the threshold. He loves me — surely it 
can not be wrong to give him the consolation 
of believing me worthy of it. Once more, be- 
fore you leave me, oh let me hear you say that 
you forgive me!" 

"Fully and freely, as I hope myself to be 
forgiven," Miss Letitia answered, solemnly; and 
then, moved by a divine impulse of tenderness 
and pity, she bent over and pressed her lips to 
the feverish brow. 

Going out, she met Deacon Parmclee in the 
room beyond, wearing a face on which anxiety 
and watching were graving stern lines. 

She went into the gathering twilight. The 
sad wind was wailing still — the leaves rustled, 
the crickets chirped mournfully ; but a star was 
rising already in the east, while yet the crimson 
autumn sunset burned above the western hills. 
"We have seen hisstar in the east," she mur- 
mured. " There is hope in the heavens." 

That night she read all the long confession, 
and understood on just what rocks the hope of 
her life had stranded and gone down helplessly. 
After all, there was a certain sweetness in the 
knowledge that the man she loved had been 
neither false nor fickle, but only, like herself, 
wronged and deceived. She could never be 
any thing more to him in this life ; but it was 
something to be sure that he had once loved 
her. When the life going out in that house 
across the fields was ended, she would send him 
the packet, and then — reinstated in his esteem — 
she could bear to go on alone through the rest 
of her pilgrimage. 

The next morning news came that the Dea- 
con's wife was dead. 

She thought it would not be -seemly to send 
off the dead woman's confession until the funer- 

al should be over. So she waited four days 
longer, and then, when all reason for delay was 
at an end, she took the packet from her desk, 
and was going to dispatch it to Nelson Guthrie. 
As she stood with it in her hand a doubt sug- 
gested itself for the first time. Should she send 
it ? Had she a right to clear herself in his eyes 
at the risk of recalling so many old memories ? 
He had loved her once well and truly. Should 
she revive the spell, if that were possible — make 
him discontented with the present — stir his heart 
with vain longings ? Would it be just to his 
wife — the wife to whom in this whole matter no 
blame could attach — whose sufficient misfor- 
tune it was that the man who married her had, 
at best, no fond freshness of first love to give 

Miss Letitia was just, to the heart's core ; 
and she was, besides, self-forgetful and resolute. 
What mattered it, she thought, whether or not 
he understood her now? Let him go on. Let 
whatever domestic happiness time had fostered 
at his hearth-stone still grow. When the end 
came would be time enough for her to stand be- 
fore him justified. So her mind was made up. 
She wrote him a few lines, explaining simply 
how the confession came into her hands, and 
the motives which deterred her from sending it 
to him at once. Then, in her turn, she folded 
and sealed the packet, and directed it on the 
outside : 

u To be given, unopened, into the hands of Nelson 
Guthrie, after the death of Letitia Mason." 

That was all. Last week she had believed 
her lover of other days recreant to all truth and 
loyalty. Over the grave where his memory lay 
buried she had dared to drop no tear — plant no 
blossom. Now she knew that the wrong had 
not been on his part ; and the thought that he 
had not given her up voluntarily was balm to 
her self-respect. So she took up her old life 
again, with something less than the old burden 
to carry. 

Years came and passed noiselessly. Slowly 
silver threads grew into the brown, shining 
hair, and the delicate, youthful color faded a 
little. She scarcely realized how time went on 
until her fortieth birth-day found her. Then 
she began to feel how many the lonely years 
had been. Twenty-two years ago that day the 
note had come from Nelson Guthrie which gave 
her back her troth-plight, and since then she I td 
never experienced one flutter of womanly vanity 
or anticipation. Life, to all selfish intents, end- 
ed with her that spring day, she thought. Since 
then, as more than one whom she had comfort- 
ed could have borne witness, she had been do- 
ing the Master's work. She felt a little sad on 
this day of all days in the year. Memory was 
busy, and the path before her, leading on to old 
age, perhaps, stretched out bare and bleak. 

It was in the middle of the long forenoon 
that a wagon stopped at the gate, and a man 
whom she recognized as the near neighbor of 
the Guthries — who lived at the other end of 
the town — dismounted and came up toward 



the house. A subtle, prophetic instinct told 
her liis errand before she met him at llic A or. 
Her old lover had sent for her — was d\i:.g. 

"Mr. Guthrie is lick," the man began, - 1 - 
ruptly, '-and they say he has n..t 1 ■■: : > 
He took a bad cold ubout ten days ago, and 
inflammation of the lungs set in, and they've 
given up all hopes of him. He says you were 
an old friend, and he wants to sec you if you 
are willing to go." 

44 1 will be ready in five minutes," she an- 
swered, with apparent calmness but -he turned 
baek into the house, her heart throbbing strange- 
ly. Now, after all these years her lime had 
come — now she had a right to justify herself in 
his dying eyes. 

She took the packet she had kept so long, 
put on her bonnet, and went out. They rode 
in utter silence over the three miles of dusty 
road uhieh lay between her little cottage and 
Nelson Guthrie's house. She noticed, as one 
in a dream, how blue the sky was and heard 
the spring birds sing, and the full brooks mur- 
mur. At last she was there. 

It was pitiful to sec how so brief an illnc»* 
had shattered the forces of that strong man'* 
life. Pale almost as he .would be when thcr 
should put his gravc-clothcs on he was now, his 
face worn and wan, his heavy black I card mak- 
ing it look yet more ghastly. His wife had 
met Miss Letitia at the door with a whispered 
welcome, and as if by previous arrangement led 
her into the sick man s room, and left her there. 

" I wanted to look yet once 
world upon your face," he said, f 
kindling a little as he saw her 
"1 wanted to foruive vou." 

»rc in tl 


to i 

44 You never had 
answered, quietly. 

•• .\. v, i : Iah\ : 

44 Never. For seven rears I hare had in my 
possession Grace Anderson's confession — the 
confession of the wrong-doing which separated 
us. I did not mean that you should see it un- 
til I was dead. Hut your time has come first, 
and you must not die until you know the truth, 
and have forgiven Grace." 

He put out his hand with an eager gesture. 

44 Read it, Letty!" he cried. 44 Read every 
word of it. I think my soul could almost 1; 
at the gates of death to hear such tiding*." 

She read it plainly and clearly, every word. 
When she was through she waited for him to 

*• Did t/ou forgive her, Letty — t,ou, with your 
lonely m mms heart, your solitary life?" 

* ' 1 forgave her — I prayed for her — I believe 
God heard me." Her voice came clear but very 

44 Then I, too, forgive her. Letty, I loved you 
in those days — we belonged to each oilier. It 
would have made uiv life a different thin:: to 

have shared it with you. But God knew best 
by what path to lead us both home. Margaret 
has been a true, good wife. Letty, will you care 
for her and comfort her when I am gone? Yen 
arc stronger than she, and she will be quite 

••If she will let me I will be her friend — I 
will take her as your legacy." 

4 *Call her, please, and wail for her in anoth- 
er room. I must make her understand how 
near was the tie between us." 

She went out and sent his wife in. 

Was it all over, she thought, and over so 
calmlv ? Standing on the threshold of the 
grave, how quietly he had received the tidings 
which had stirred her own soul rrvrn years ago 
to its depths. Hut he understood her now — he 
knew chat she had been true. For the rest, 

After a while Margaret came out. She had 
been weeping evidently, but she came up to Le- 

11/* she said, 44 andIknow 
it to havo been his wife. 

Will vou stav till the 

wa« not long. The third dar 

• old, and bis proud, («salonatc, Into heart 

Mi * Letitia had learned to suffer quietly by 

in t»er ncan was uccp, oui u i»ieu inwniuiy. 
Outwardly »hc was calm, and supported Mar- 

tic cottage where MUs Luitia had lived alon< 
so long. 

And then time went on again, and the gra»i 
grew green on Nelson Guthrie's grate 5 and hii 
widow's passionate grief subsided into gentle re 
grct and tender memory. Regret so gentle thai 
its shadow failed to affright a new WOOCTJ and 
Mistress Margaret, fair and sweet still at a lit- 
tle past forty, went out of Miss Lctitia'g cot* 
tagc into another home. And again Letitia wa< 

Alone, but never lonely; £br now she dream! 
that when Margaret shall go, resting on her latei 
love, to the country peopled by shades, she her- 
self, true through all, will have the right to stand 
proudly at Nelson Guthrie's side. 





ONCE upon a time, as my maternal grand- 
father was hugging his knees complacently 
over the fire, in the delicious abandon of a well- 
beloved pastor's Sunday evening, he broke forth 
in laudation of some well-put point of his morn- 
ing homily. 

"That may all be very true, my dear, but 
hadn't you better let somebody else praise 
you?" was the conjugal counterblast to this 
flourish of Pharisaism. 

" 1 Somebody else ?' No indeed !" quoth the 
trumpeter ; " the poor coots don't know how 
to put it on in the right place." 

Doubtless the artists whose ill-fortune opened 
their studios during the last winter to my crude 
criticism may class me under like ornithologic- 
al condemnation with the sermon -critics of my 
progenitor. But during my residence in Italy 
I was so impressed by the fact of the neglect by 
American tourists of the studios of their coun- 
trymen and women that I determined, at my 
first opportunity, to pipe a little against this ig- 
norance and indifference before three or four de- 
serving doors in Rome and Florence. If you 
will not dance I shall at least have relieved my 

It is a lamentable truism that the represent- 
ative American traveler prefers an indifferent 
bust or picture by an Italian or English artist 
to the best which his compatriots can achieve. 

Going forth from the artistic atmosphere of 
an average American circle, strong in the faith 
that Squire Jonathan's portrait in oils, and his 
boarding-school daughter's monochromatics and 
crayons are the ne plus ultra of art, he enters 
his first European gallery to depart a sadder, 
but scarcely a wiser man. "Ichabod" is 
thenceforth written not only upon daughter 
Mary's thrilling sea-fights and gay beauties in 
pastel, but upon all American art. His self- 
conceit in its sloughing leaves no atom of con- 
fidence in aught which his land can produce. 
Yet his converse admiration of foreign art must 
necessarily be. indiscriminating, since he retains 
the complacent belief that no jackanapes with 
his technical jargon can teach him what to ad- 
mire. Not he ! He hasn't called Ruskin a 
madman and Jarves a fool, in snubbing Mary's 
raptures, to go to them or any other critic for in- 
struction. Accordingly he stocks his gallery, 
as he would disdain to do his shop, with foreign 
waves, of whose origin, intent, and worth he 
is utterly ignorant, only making sure that no 
"Yankee trash" is included. 

He carries home in triumph a blear-eyed Be- 
atrice Cenci, a leering Madonna della Sedia exe- 
cuted by a Roman sign-painter, a medallion por- 
trait of himself chipped out in the putty-re&tx? 
of a third-rate English artist, and a family-group 
cannily altered for the occasion from a Niobe 
and her Children, which had long cumbered 
the appartemento of some Italian sharper. 

Our own escape from the sin and condemna- 

tion of the representative American traveler in 
regard to our compatriots' studios in Rome was 
owing solely to imputed grace. On our way 
thither we met the author of "Harper's Guide- 
Book," who solemnly assured us that there were 
two individuals in Rome whom it was desira- 
ble to see — "first the Pope, then Mrs. Dr. G." 
Now, it happened that to the latter little epito- 
me of all charity and hospitality we are indebt- 
ed for much of that which makes us still cry 
with Shakspeare, 

*' Was't not a happy star 
Led us to Rome — " 

and being there, to Numero tredici via Condotti! 
It was her generous ire which spurred our su- 
pineness around the circle of American artists 
in the Eternal City, and even in remote Flor- 

The pity is that this should be a notable in- 
stance of esprit de corps and de esprit de pays — 
that every American resident of position abroad 
should not feel a fraternal interest in the suc- 
cess of American artists around him, and make 
of himself a conscience for the admonition of 
thoughtless tourists from their native land, with 
hearts or purses to be touched. 

I understand that Mr. Jarves has pronounced 
William Story to be unappreciated in Amer- 
ica. However true this may be in regard to 
untraveled connoisseurs, I think the representa- 
tive American traveler is least likely to neglect 
this among all American studios in Rome. Does 
not Murray indorse Mr. Story's handiwork as 
" much noticed" at the great London Exposi- 
tion of 18G2 ? This Anglican baptism is surely 
almost equivalent to British birth. Moreover, it 
is quite safe to give loose rein to one's adjec- 
tives and notes of admiration in the presence of 
the Soid, the Sappho, and the Sybil, and all the 
more because there are sure to be among the 
carriages which wait on the Saturday receptions 
in the Via di San Nicolo di Tolentino an Italian 
coronet or two, and some well-quartered British 

We had the privilege of entering the inner- 
most studio, and seeing the sculptor, moulding- 
stick in hand. Even in its immaturity and in 
soulless plaster we saw in the Medea a grander 
statue than those apt fingers had previously 
created. The artist is said to have followed 
Ristori like her shadow, and has appropriated 
the great tragedienne's inspiration as a spiritual 
body for his own. It was a sad pleasure to see 
also in this inner sanctum that which is pro- 
nounced by Mr. Browning, and her brother Mr, 
Barrett, the best of all the many essays to render 
the drooping head and pathetic face of Elizabeth 
Browning. This bust was chiseled from the 
artist's memory of the poet (with whose personal 
friendship he was privileged), and its creation 
was trammeled by no lying portraits or superfi- 
cial photographs as a model. 

But why do we linger here where my pipe is 
absurdly superfluous? Were all America be- 
sides silent in his praise, Mr. Story might well 
rest content with Hawthorne's crowning. 



Miss Hosmer also is too well known in Amer- 
ica by means of her peripatetic Zenobia, nml her 
stationary Statesman, together with fascinating 
traditions still rite about Boston Common ami 
the Piazza di Spagna in regard to youthful es- 
capades and maturcr deeds of prowess, to be 
overlooked by the representative American, trav- 
eler. She, too, has the prestige of British pa- 
tronage through her master Gihson, whose char- 
actcristic dictum, " Yes. yes, true art should Ik? 
descriptive!" engraved in stone, is appropriately 
the legend of her studio. 

We approached this celebrity with inward 
trepidation, on one of her weekly reception-day*. 
Unlike Mr. Story, she docs all her \ isi:. II the 
honor of receiving tlicm in person, and it was 
pleasant to find a bright, piijunnt woman instead 
of the Amazon, bustling w ith weajH.ns otlen-ive, 
which our fancy had conjured from the shAdowr 
realm of p« i | >. Her st\ le of >oBfBJHMl si 
lather crisp than hrusk. and she enters cord- 
ially into her guest s udinirali< n i t her work. 
With kindly patience she told o\cr nnd n;:ain in 
our hearing to successive visitors the story of 
her brazen door, which, with it* twelve 6oas»> 
rc fieri representing the hours of night, is to shut 
in the treasures of an Knglish nobleman's art- 
gallery. Hut little Puck, rollicking little elf, 
won our hearts moot of all among Miss IIos- 
hut's marbles; nnd this not alone hecauso tbe 
mill'-unia! state, wherein n little child »L*11 lead 
all captive, has already U'gnn with us, so that 
every thing fair, dimpled, and infantile attracts 
us. Turk venn-1 to i.. altogether the most 
spontaneous . t' ti..' artist'* work*. A rapine 
(pieen she never mu . \ . m in her dream*, but a 
mischievous morsel of humanity or fairy hood is 
native to a woman's fancy. 

Mr. K"_ • i - . who -hi:' - v.ith Khciuhart the 
honor of completing the doors of the national 
Capitol from the design of the lamented Craw- 
ford, had just executed a c 1 il statue of 
a Union soldier, gun in hand, for Cincin- 
nati. In spite of the amusing account of the 
sitting with which the nrtist entertained u% we 
could but regret that the model of the statue had 
been a brave Celt, who. ho v. . \ r. seemed from 
the story to have been prouder of the distin ti n 
of bting "brother to him as married owld Bo- 
ker's daughter" (the hero of a New York ]>arlor 
and coach-house romance of several years ago ) 
than of any personal < v M.ll 
there he stands, grim and war-worn, but un- 
flinching and invincible. An Knglish lady- 
chanced to enter this studio, and being told that 
in this statue she might see a brave of the 
United States army, remarked eagerly, 44 Ah, 
yes. It is Stonewall Jackson, I suppose \ n he 
being the only hero among his cousins of whose 
exploits John Bull permits his unsophisticated 
family to read. "No, Madam, on the con- 
trary," replied the loyal sculptor, with distinct 
enunciation, "this is the man that shot him!" 

Any successful artist must accumulate vast 
stores of ana from the lips of garruloii* visitors. 

Another Briton, wandering superciliously 

through the wine studio, paused before a bust 
of Cicero. "Such wonderful concentration as 
all your American faces have !" said he. 44 Now 
I should know that to be a countryman of yours 
had I chanced to see it in a Japanese artist's 
studio. Ah, there is no mistaking the Ameri- 
can type!" The blushing sculptor courteously 
allowed the citizenship of the tun el Yankee to 
joss unchallenged, and the undaunted physiog- 
nomist passed on to further criticism. 

One day Mr. Kogers was exhibiting his pretty 
*YyoV«i to a deaf s|<*ctator. 

" What did vou sav her name was?" 

tclligcnt for tm u 
We had the j 

Altar of Sacrifice 

die looks nuite in- 

ane kneeling upon the 
face of the young mar- 

1 to obtain by the fat t that two ropic» in 
do had already bOM b» *|«>krn, although the 
cl was by uo means complete. The frc- 
it duplication throughout the studio of com- 
on statuettes represent in,; an Imbum //■afrr. 
and H*K*r-t,irl recalled comically to our 
lory the nursery ditty which dwells upon 
i Hrown's proprietorship in * 4 ono little, two 
three little Indians," and so on through 
It cits. 

t Mr. Mosier's we found tho celebrated 


of the 

mn her ( 

in the colossal group of tbe latum of the I*rodi» 
fd I thought I saw, what I understand is not 
universally admitted, a wonderful rendering of 
the blessed old idyl. It may be, fur aught I know, 
anatomieally incorrect, or like somebody's statue 
in this thing, or somebody's else in that ; but to 
me there was grvnt pathos in the utter rcjiosc of 
the son as he lays bis sinful, sorrowful head on 
tbe old man's heart, having let go at once nil 
his old life and old self. It seemed to me that 

eel, or by the wayside, might touch some obdu- 
rate heart to whom the pulpit had been voice- 

In the studio of a young American woman, 
whose genius with no adventitious aids has al- 
ready won her an enviable position, wc found 
in clay a lofty embodiment of the i«oct-nrti-t'i 
ideal of Jeremiah the Prophet. A well-known 
Boston clergyman visiting this studio the day 
before ourselves, exclaimed as soon as the moist 
napkin was removed from this superb medallion : 

44 Ah, one of the old prophets has risen from 
the dead I" 

'•Which of the prophets is be?" asked the 
artist ; 44 you lacing a divine are supposed to 
know them all." 

44 Jeremiah, of course. Who could doubt it ?" 

Who, indeed, w ho felt the majestic sorrow of 



that face, the eloquent grieving of heavenly wis- 
dom over human folly. This medallion realizes 
vividly Heine's description of Jehuda ben Hale- 
vy : " Down to his breast fell, like a gray forest, 
his hair, and cast a weird shadow on the face 
which looked out through it, his troubled, pale 
face with the spiritual eyes." More than all it 
recalled the infinitely pathetic cry those lips once 
uttered, "Is it nothing to you, all ye who pass 
by ? behold, and see if there be any sorrow like 
unto my sorrow." 

The sculptor of this superb medallion is Miss 
Margaret Foley. She has worked her way brave- 
ly up to fame and success, winning peculiar hon- 
ors from Italian and English critics as well as 
her own countrymen. She has been forced to 
confine herself too closely to portrait medallions 
to allow the freest development of her genius. 
It is an epoch to her when she dare take a free 
breath and evoke from the marble a kingly head 
like that of the Prophet of Lamentation. And 
yet her portraits are true creations of art. 

Ye who think that while sculpture in the round 
is a wonderful art, all that is required for the 
production of a bas-relief is a flat surface of suf- 
ficient thickness to allow chippings ad libitum, 
go to the Villa Albani and study the Lotus- 
crowned A ntinoas; or, w r hat is next, compare Miss 
Foley's medallions with those which pass un- 
challenged from the studio of many a distin- 
guished sculptor. 

But I forget an oracle recently uttered : bassi- 
relievi are not statuary ! It remained for an as- 
tute sitter at the New York Customs to discover 
that a case of medallion portraits and ideal heads, 
sent to America by Miss Foley in execution of 
various commissions, did not come under the 
Act for the protection of American artists in 
foreign countries, and were therefore subject to 
a duty of 50 per cent, in gold ! And all this 
when a case of mere stone-mason's pedestals 
passed the same Custom-house free. Various 
appeals were made by indignantly sympathetic 
artists and friends against the absurd decision 
of this Art-Dogberry, but several months later 
we heard that the case was still in durance vile ; 
the purchasers of the sculpture being naturally 
unwilling to pay the unrighteous tax, and the 
artist threatened with the return of her handi- 
work unless she herself discharged it. 

In the benign face of Bishop Whipple, of Min- 
nesota, Miss Foley found an irresistible tempta- 
tion, and with one or two sittings from the good 
missionary she created in clay at once a perfect 
portrait and an admirable ideal of St. John the 
Beloved. This was immediately appropriated 
(with other of her marbles) by Mr. William As- 
pinwall, to whose generous and yet discrimin- 
ating patronage American artists abroad and 
art-lovers at home are so deeply indebted. We 
heard a sculptor say of him, "He is the only 
visitor to my studio Avho doesn't make me trem- 
ble by touching my tools : he knows what to do 
with them." Adding, with amusing commisera- 
tion: "It is such a pity he hadn't been poor, he 
would have made a true artist !" 

In Miss Foley's studio there was also still in 
clay fine bust of the son of the sculptor Craw- 
ford, as also various medallions in different 
stages of progress. A small bust of Theodore 
i Parker, who gave her frequent sittings while in 
Rome, and with whose face in its vigor she had 
been most familiar, is far more satisfactory than 
the Socrates of Mr. Story, or any other attempted 
likeness of that most brave and intolerant phi- 
lanthropist. His old congregation should order 
a colossal copy of this authentic bust for their 
Assembly Room. 

During a brief visit to her native land the 
past season Miss Foley modeled several admi- 
rable medallions, among them fine profiles of 
Mr. Longfellow, Charles Sumner, and Julia 
Ward Howe. This artist has also long been 
distinguished for her superiority as an artist in 

No American tarrying in Rome should fail 
to visit the appartemento of the Freemans. Here 
Mr. Freeman plies his accurate, conscientious 
brush, devoting as many hours to the perfecting 
of a»few threads of drapery as would many art- 
ists to the execution of an entire picture. Here 
Mrs. Freeman wields the chisel skillfully, and 
here their niece paints charming cabinet pic- 
tures and copies successfully. • 

Living in a beautiful apartment, far up, like 
Hilda in her tower, we found Miss Church, a 
young Vermonter, if I mistake not. One of 
Claude Lorraine's luscious landscapes, copied 
in the Louvre, was just receiving her finishing 
touch, it having been purchased by Mr. Le 
Grand Lockwood, whose wealth has blessed 
many a deserving artist and many a distressed 
countryman abroad. Three little pictures pleased 
us best in this studio. Two views (standing and 
sitting) of an obstreperous little Roman with an 
irresistibly jolly face. This little imp of a mod- 
el regards the confinement incident to his vo- 
cation with disgust, and is therefore always ac- 
companied by his father, whom he mercilessly 
snubs. " What time is it, old father?" " Ten 
and a half, my gentle little son." " No, old fa- 
ther, you lie — it is long after mezzo gio7-no! u 
Then turning his weariness toward his pictur- 
esque costume, he cries, stormily, "Look here, 
old father ! I musfr have new clothes ! Why 
don't you dress me like the little Francesi on 
the Pincio ! I shall buy clothes for myself here- 

The third picture is the portrait of an equally 
irresponsible little chiccory-girl, who is attired 
in all the pretty absurdity of a Roman peasant's 
costume, with the heavy folds of the panno on 
her graceful little head. This little mother of 
Gracchi in prospectu declines to favor the artist 
with a sitting of her august presence without a 
head of her favorite vegetable with which to be- 
guile the hour, meditatively devouring the tough 
mass of vegetation. Accordingly, there she 
stands in the picture, chiccory in hand, and is a 
bewitching little figure for one's drawing-room. 

Our visit to the pleasant home of the cheery 
sisters, the Misses Williams, brought upon us 


an acute attack of mat du pmp. ( )n their table 
lay a fresh, crisp copy of the Springfield Repub- 
lican, and on the walls hung half a dozen ad- 
mirable sketches of autumnal secuery, whhh 
could only have had their birth Qnn»n; th 
pies, oaks, and beeches of New England. Til fir 
previous vacation having been sj**nt in Sicily 
we were able to judge, both from their enthusi- 
astic descriptions and abundant sketehes, how 
delightful the scenery must btJ, A tine picture 
of Mount Etna, with sunri-e tint-, p! ! - 
cccdinjjjy. It had just been purchased by Mr. 
Morehcad, of Philadelphia. 

We were fascinated by th* 1 beauty of Mr. 
Tilton's Venetian views and Venetian coloring 
before we had learned of Mr. Janes that it 
was artistically wrong so to he, and our lir*t 
impression still abides. Thil artisl'n mtirrte in 
the exposition of the " luminosity" and other 
perfections of his own j icture* is subliin". Vet 
the oddOft thing of all is, that he seemed to u* 
only to tell the plain truth eloquently about these 
glowing re-creations of hit bru-h, albeit it mi^ht, 
perhaps, have eomc w ith better grace from u>ntc 
11 poor coot" of a ftpcclator instead of from the 
Titianes-pie artist himself. 

\Yc cherish a grud.e ngain*: the Fates, whirh 
prevented us from executing frequently -renewed 
plans for visiting the studios of other distin- 
guished Americans in Komc. L*nlc»s the tour- 
ist conscientiously assign every moment of 
time to some sjiecilic object, however l«»ng be 
may remain in Itomo, in leaving he will carrv 
awa v many sueh regrets and suffer remedilettloM. 

Our faithful, clever Consul, Mr. Stillman, 
true as truth, but not nlwny* in sunshine, was 
just about removing to a new |»»«t, so that hit 
studio was in a transition state. We %nn enough 
of his painting, however, to convince us that his 
talents would reap a rich ■ M in ;!,• Ml nd 
artistieally uncxploied field I* lure lorn. In the 
beautiful island of Candia he will be likely to 
find worthy material for his skillful |>cnctl and 
in. while in the inhabitants he will find hi* 
very antipodes, unless they have outgrown their 
portrait so graphically sketched by one of their 
own artists centuries ago: Jfte Crrtuims art uV- 
ways liars, evil Leasts, slow Lrlltrs. 

Having tarried so long in 
wc had far too little time for and her American sti 

Hiram Powers is the one 
whose merits seem to be fully apprec iated 
home. Every representative American trav- 
eler longs to have his Ciccronic features im- 
mortalized by this sculptor, and joyfully t \- 
changes his thousand silver scudi f«.r "one of Ml 
exquisitely-finished bu>ts. Aside from his tal- 
ent Mr. Powers deserves his brilliant success 
on account of his generous interest in vounger, 
less famous artists, and his rigorous loyalty. 
Few Americans visit his studio without hearing 
the suggestion from the beautiful-eyed o] 1 man 
as they reluctantly take leave, " You niu-t not 
think of going from Florence without seeing 
such and such studios." 

His thirty years' exile have only deepened hit 
patriotism, "sud his children, alfof Florentine 
birth, have been chiseled by their |<nrenis into 
noble specimeus of New Knglandcrs — not a for- 

| eign touch about them. During our four years 
of darkness and combat this g\**l man never 
once lost heart, and, perhaps, did as much as 

' any American resident abroad to silence En- 
glish imiiertincncc. His studio is much fr« - 

Eternal Ci 

•ican srti 

one is ever suffered to escape scot-free. He re- 
peatcd to us a Urn tm>t of his osn similar to that 
already narrated of Mr. lingers. An English 
visitor was struck on entering Mr. Powe-rs's 
studio by the well-known bust of Andrew JaA- 

'* Who i« this, prav? An American?' 1 

to > 

n Hull. "My dear, thU is that 
wall Jackson of whom you have 

by no means. It is a man. who, 
•n living, would have hung Stone- 

rs also related with great gusto the 

t't know 


rrer what had 
was a plaster 

Rr. A fuin hanlmal . j ra\ 

■ it ? 

A nild boar. 
Ah, poor cc 

A T 

ion he's in, Sir; 'twould 
• to fetch bun up to where my 

in came one day into Mr. Pow- 

••Only just come to town!" said he; "had 
to wait in Paris to get my gallery packed. 
Ituught a whole gallcrv of Old Masters — paid 
fifteen hundred dollars fur 'cm, too! How 
much is that statoo worth ?** 

"Two thousand dollars.* 

" My stsrs! Why, I bought one t'other day 
for two hundred dollars, and it ain't plaster nei- 
ther; for I drew my jack-knife right cross her 

lJo you know the stors of Powers'* Amerifaf 
Fifteen years ago, in prophetic inspiration, he 
wrought a beautiful figure crowned with stars, 
treading under foot broken chains. He regard- 
ed Congress as pledged to its acceptance for the 
Capitol ; but two sueeessive Presidents shud- 
dered at the awful radicalism of the trampled 



fetters, and at the time of our visit America 
still lay boxed in New York. Can she not now 
safely come forth with her crown of stars ? 

Mr. Powers's patriotism is so extreme that 
he prefers to model in American clay, which is 
regularly exported, as he told us, for his use. 
Home soil is better to him than that of classic 
Arno or Tiber. One might think that his 
marble also was brought from some more fa- 
vored mount than the quarries of ordinary art- 
ists, since it acquires in his studio an inimitable 
velvetness of texture. We hope it may be many 
years before our country shall lose such a repre- 
sentative of American manhood, patriotism, and 
art as Hiram Powers. 

One young artist commended to us by Mr. Pow- 
ers we had already learned to admire. The 
same dainty fancy which once wrought itself 
out through the evanescent medium of Brattle- 
borough snow now moulds Carrara marble into 
enduring forms of beauty. We were so fortu- 
nate as to find in his studio the model of his 
Lincoln monument. The four groups about 
the base, representing Cavalry, Artillery, Ma- 
rine, and Infantry, have wonderful life and ac- 
tion. Although the dolcefar niente of Italian 
workmen prevented our seeing the model com- 
plete, yet we saw enough to convince us that 
here was Larkin Meade's chef-d'oeuvre. 

A pretty statue of a Puritan girl on a visit to 
her poultry-yard had been christened a Conta- 
dine: we recognized too well the exquisite re- 
finement of the New England type of girlhood 
not to protest against the misnomer. A fine 
group of a soldier, telling the story of his cam- 
paign to the little daughter upon his knee, had 
just been ordered of colossal size to be the ad- 
mirable ornament for the grounds of an asylum 
for soldiers' orphans in Connecticut. Before 
the soldier stretches an awful vision of blood, 
indicated by the fixed gaze, the outstretched 
hand, and the eloquent face of the little maiden 
as she looks up into his war-worn face with won- 
dering sympathy. 

I can only speak of a single artist more. The 
story of John Jackson is so touching that I take 
the liberty of telling it simply. His design for 
a monument to Dr. Kane having been accepted 
by an organization formed for the purpose, he 
was sent to Italy to execute it in marble. He 
was assured that on arriving in Florence he 
should find funds to a large amount, and that 
further remittances would be made until the 
sum proposed on the acceptance of his design 
should have been received. Accordingly, break- 
ing up his home in the midst of an appreciative 
circle in Boston, he removed to Florence. On 
his arrival no funds were found — none were 
sent. After many anxious weeks he received a 
letter from the committee who had expatriated 
him, stating that, in consequence of the panic 
incident to the outbreak of the rebellion, Dr. 
Kane's monument must be indefinitely post- 

A stranger in a strange land, winter coming 
on (one is not beyond the rigor of winter in 
Florence), few tourists abroad, no commissions 

possible, a family to provide for — what shall he 
done ? This true hero valiantly betook himself 
to the trade which his father (mindful, of the 
Hebrew proverb, "Blessed is he that hath a 
trade to his hand ; he is like a vineyard well 
fenced") had obliged him to learn before he 
would suffer him to devote himself to his be- 
loved art. Uncomplainingly he went into a 
machine-shop, and wrought in iron when he 
longed to be in his studio. 

Of late something of the success he so richly 
deserves has crowned this artist. But when we 
Mere in Florence there stood in his studio, still 
in plaster, a most poetic conception of Eve, the 
" Mother of all Living, "holding upon her lap the 
body of the dead Abel. Every detail is admira- 
bly rendered, but the most distinguishing points 
in the group are the contrast between the beau- 
tiful hand of the mother, with full, eager life 
coursing through its veins, and the limp, life- 
less fingers which fall without response from 
her grasp ; and chief of all, the expression of 
the bereaved mother's face. It is not so much 
the " bootless bene" of a childless Rachel weep- 
\ ing uncomforted, as the marvel of the Mother 
of the Living over the first revelation of the aw- 
[ ful miracle of Death. 

I have before me one of the exquisite pho- 
tographs of Powers frcres (the artist's sons). 

■ It is a copy of the rough model (the original of 
which we saw) of a commemorative monument. 
It represents a pure shaft eighty feet in height, 
surmounted by a graceful statue of Liberty, 

i bearing aloft in one hand the star-spangled ban- 
! ner, and holding in the other a wreath, as if about 

■ to let it fall upon the honored graves beneath. 
| The design was to ornament the base with bas- 

si-rdievi, according to the subjects coramemo- 
! rated. But the uniqueness of this monument 
j consists in the capital of the graceful column, 
| which- is of rare beauty, and distinctively Amer- 
ican. It is at once so natural and striking that 
I the marvel is that it was not conceived long ago, 
j and adopted in place of Corinthian or Compos- 
I ite ornament in many of our national buildings 
throughout the republic. The existence of this 
model at the time of our visit to the studio was 
j known only to the photographer and a few fa- 
I vored friends. If I am betraying a secret at 
1 this late day by even these incoherent hints, I 
| shall not beg Mr. Jackson's pardon, for it is high 
J time this beautiful design were executed in pure 
! white marble (or in Quincy granite with bronze 
ornaments), and were set up in the sight of all 
men in some PlaceVendome of America. 

Is it not already evident that among the gra- 
cious fruit which is to spring from fields which 
J we have been for weary years sowing in tears, 
I but in faith, is a fresh, beautiful growth of na- 
! tive art ? The demand for commemorative 
monuments is great, the supply of unmeaning 
meretricious designs is perhaps greater ; let se- 
verely discriminating taste be exercised in the 
selection of these memorials, lest they prove 
unworthy not alone of our glorious dead, but 
of the new era of American art which is now 
I dawning. 




u A S to every leaf and 999 
J\_ an Ideal to which th< 

?vcrv flower there is 
10 growth of the 
plant is constantly urging, so is there an ideal 
to every human I icing — I pwfcel form in which 
it might appear, were every defect removed and 
every characteristic excellence stimulate.! to the 
highest point. Once in an nge God send* lo 
some of us a friend who loves in ** uot a sum 
imagining, nn unreal character; but, looking 
through all the rubbish « f our imperfections, 
loves in us the divine ideal of our nature — loves, 
not the man that we arc, but the angel that »c 
may be. 

«• Hut these wonderful soul-friends, to whom 
God grants such perception, are the exception* 
in life ; yet sometime* are «c ble«sed with oof 
who sees through us, as Micharl Angeki saw 
through a block of marble, when be attacked it 
in a divine fervor, declaring that an angel was 
imprisoned within it. 

"There be soul artists, who go through this 
world looking among their fellows uith reser- 
encc. as one looks arnid«t the dutt and rubhtth 
of old shops for hidden works of Tltlaa and 
Leonardo, and, finding them, boacver crocked 
or torn or painted over with tawdry daub* . f 
pretender*, immediately recognise tho divine 
original, and set themselves to cleanse and re- 

Alice dmpficd the U>ok and gased dreamily 

m Beautiful, I 
Not true ? 
skeptic ! If I di 
vou, behind all 
sav another sur 

«■ I n very gl 
such a vivid itw 

you ail and read 
into the snnset < 
lie ht/ul web < ( fat 

<e a ucautil 
naughty »i 

rtcr in 

uch rood cTesv c 

hi oks, and look off 

|«o|4c. I don't mean soar friends thai son lose 
and idealise, but pcofde yon don I take any par- 
ticuler interest in— those bread -and -hotter kind 
of people thai .: n t seem lo haw any idena be- 
» n I heaping np a pile of* dry goods and furui- 
tare aronad inem , the scry s»*t that Mrs. Move 
herself deocr iU -o on another page: those who 
haw learned * i i be fal and tranquil, lo bar* 
warm Ares and , - •! dinners,' lo hang their 
I hat on the same ; - g at the same hour every 
4a/, lo skep soundly all t « Ja. and never lo 
trouble their bead sstlb n thought or imagining 
besond.' IK> vuo tee anv aa.-Ws In them f To 

:. -.», who 

opened! to her. 8 
pre-eminently on 
whom she had b 

the growth of the plant is constantly u 
is there nn ideal to cverv human being." 
the time ever come when we should 
this ideal perfect ion— when, from Ihe 
the selfish, the poasionate, the I, n ung, sjsjj 
prejudiced, the dual and rubbish would be re- 
moved, and they should stand oat j urc and 
beautiful, their own higher, truer Mfcaj ? 11. 
many U'autiful characters might be hidden be- 
ncath the coarse and uncultivated cxtcnora of 
tho*c around her! What a glorious work thai 
of thc^oul-artist ! Sho was living in an ideal 
world when she was suddenlv recoiled lo the 
actual by her sprightly little companion. 

"Come, Allie, are you thinking how rou're 
going to carve out Ned Armstrong, and polish 
him up into a magnificent work of art ? I'll tell 
you what it i<, you've got a work before von! 
It's easier to an a statue in a block of marble 
than it is to get it out, particularly in these hu- 
raan statues Mrs. Stowc tells about," 

"Pshaw, Kate, how yon do run on! I 
wasn't thinking about any one in particular. 
But isn't it a beautiful idea that every human 
being contains the germ of perfection, and that 
we have only to remove the dust and nnmrnt to 
reveal an anjrel ?" 

set the mot lh-«««ighls selfish, dttogrcewMc 
man in h»s family I cscr knew. Can you sec 
an ; fl in any of loaw pe«^>lr K 

i I cna aot, I have falia to believe ll is 
there. God ks the artist, and His works are per. 
feel— behind all the rubbish with wbkh time 
has oUeured ibetn," Alice retained, earnestly. 
"Socnetimes II requires peculiar circumstances 
lo derelop the finer tnsiu of r ha meter. A seed 
is wrapped up In a paper for centuries, and it 
remains niching bwl a seed. Yet the |«MoiUli- 
Uea of nn nods of bcaottfal fl o w en are there, 
riant it, gisw it rata and sunshine, and the rick 
lusces of earth, and all the paosibilittee of tho 

qualities). Yea, 1 believe there is an angel in 
every • ne,_ if we could only find it and bring it 

"I don't know, Alice, home people don't 
seem to have any higher nature. If you should 
describe what yon call their higher nature to 
them they wouldn't appreciate it at all, wouldn't 
recognise it as belonging to them, and wouldn't 
consider that yon complimented them in insist- 
ing that it did. James Sherwood hasn't any 
higher nature, I know ! You ought to see him 
every day, for weeks and months, as / have. 
I've studied him for a curiosity, as a naturalist 



would study a peculiar fossil, and I can't find 
any thing in him but what is coarse, and selfish, 
and narrow. He goes around house like a 
thunder-cloud ; never speaks except to tell what 
he wants done, or find fault with something 
that isn't done to his mind, and never seems to 
think of any body's happiness but his own. I 
verily believe he enjoys making other people un- 
happy as much as some people enjoy creating 
happiness. I never saw such a narrow, con- 
tracted specimen of humanity in my life, and 
that's just the amount of it!" 

Alice looked grave, and was silent a few mo- 
ments. "And yet your sister saw something 
to love in him ;" she said at last. 

"Poor Nell! I suppose she was just such a 
dreamy, imaginative girl as you arc, and she 
made up a glorious ideal all out of her own 
brain, and threw it, with unduubting confidence, 
over the man who said ' I love you,' never dream- 
ing that love did not mean to him all that it did 
to her ; that to him it only meant, 4 You're a 
good-looking and very convenient article of 
household furniture; I would like to own you.' 
Now I'm romantic. You don't believe it, but 
I am, only I have just enough of real practical 
common-sense to save me from making a mar- I 
tyr of myself. I have a glorious ideal. I could 
love almost to idolatry the man who only as- 
pired to it ; but that man I have never seen. I 
have tried to surround some I have known, and 
who have professed interest in me, with the ra- 
diance and glory of this ideal. I never succeed- 
ed. The outlines of the real were always too 
plainly visible through the ideal, and so it fol- 
lows that at twenty-two I have never been in 
love. Nellie, I suppose, was more imaginative ; 
and less practical than I. She loved an ideal 
being, a creature of her brain ; she awoke to 
find herself married to a stranger." 

" Y'ou draw too dark a picture, Kate. You 
are very intense in your likes and dislikes. I 
never saw a being who was wholly bad. I be- 
lieve Mr. Sherwood has a better nature, if any 
one has the skill to draw it out." 

"I don't know how you'd go to work to get 
at it. If he was a drunkard I could undertake 
him witli some hope of success. He might have 
a large, generous nature, something that you 
could appeal to, to lead him up to a higher life. 
But a professed teacher of righteousness, an ex- 
pounder of the will of God, one who doubtless 
considers himself at the pinnacle of virtue, when 
he hasn't in reality the faintest conception of the 
meaning of the word, how are you to get at 
him ? I have a missionary spirit toward him, 
but I don't know how to go to work." 

"If you could tell him the truth in kindness. 
Perhaps all he needs is light." 

"Kindness! Poor sister has tried that on 
him for the last ten years, and had the satis- 
faction of seeing him grow more selfish and 
morose every day. He isn't high enough up 
to appreciate it. But the truth ! I'll tell you 
what it is. I've a new idea!" exclaimed Kate, 
suddenly starting up. "I'm going to try a 

psychological experiment on him. I'll test him 
with acids, and if there's a soul in him I'll bring 
it out. I'll write him a letter this very night, 
and I'll tell him just exactly what I think of 
him ; ask him if he's got any better nature ; 
and tell him, if he has, I'd like to see a little 
of it. He preaches the truth to others; he 
shall enjoy the privilege of having it preached 
to him for once. Truth and Love are the two 
great levers to move the world with. Nell's 
love has failed with him ; I'll try truth. If I 
succeed I'll accept your theory, and be your 
most reverent and devoted disciple henceforth 
and forever." 

Alice Graves was wealthy and an only child. 
Her friend, poor, an orphan, and a teacher, was 
spending her vacation with her. The two girls 
had spent the long summer afternoon in read- 
ing, and, as twilight approached, had fallen into 
the conversation we have just recorded. 


It had been a busy day in the little country 

parsonage of A ; for its mistress was cook, 

chamber-maid, nurse, seamstress, and lady of 
the house, all in one. The week's ironing, 
which had occupied the sultry hours of morn- 
ing, was flattering in snowy parity, on the bars; 
the callers, who had stolen the precious hours 
of afternoon, had taken their departure; the 
teething baby was at last asleep ; and Mrs. 
Sherwood had seated herself before her formi- 
dable basket of unfinished sewing. What a 
weary vista of unstitched seams lay before her! 
Would she ever reach the end? No; for soon 
the autumn work would come — the sewing, 
cleaning, and a multitude of other duties — for 
a country minister's wife must be economical, 
and try her own lard, and make her own can- 
dles; and then came winter, and then spring; 
the seasons following each other in such rapid 
succession that she scarcely found time to pre- 
pare for one before the other was upon her. 
Life seemed an endless succession of unsewed 
garments, unwashed dishes, and teething ba- 
bies ; and, to embitter all, perpetual fault-find- 
ing from one whose love would have cast a 
golden halo around her humblest duties. 

Mr. Sherwood had spent the day in his study, 
reading a little, lounging a little, and writing 
at intervals on a sermon on "Unconditional 
Submission." A very attractive room was Mr. 
Sherwood's study — much more so than the 
kitchen in which his better half was destined 
to spend the greater part of her time. There 
was a large square writing-desk, an inviting 
arm-chair, a lounge, and, best of all, a very re- 
spectable library of standard authors. One 
hour of the twenty-four in this room would 
have been gold to Nellie Sherwood, yet she sel- 
dom entered it but to sweep and dust. If her 
husband would but have brought the warmth 
and light of those great minds with whom he 
daily communed down to her, she would have 
asked no more. He never did ; perhaps because 
he was himself incapable of receiving them. 



When he came clown this afternoon he h.A 
but three words for her: "Whew's JOJU sup- 

"It will be ready very soon. It is hardly 
time yet, and I wanted to pet Susie's littl" 
apron done," was the rejoinder, without look- 
ing up from her work. 

''Time half an hour ago. Seems to me 
you must have been short of starch this morn- 
ing," he continued, going into the kit. hm and 
inspecting the newly ironed linen. "My col- 
Ian are as flimsy as rags, and one of them is 

His wife ventured no reply. George and 
Susie rushing in at that moment fresh from play 
and waking the baby from his n>tlc-s slumber, 
gave her opportunity to conceal the burnii.g 
tears she could not wholly suppress. 

Mr. Sherwood stretched hiuwlf on tho sofa 
and took up a paj»er, but soon threw it Midi 
impatiently. "I believe I will go up to the 
Post-office, as there seems to be no prospect of 
supper in this establishment for some time to 


There were three letters in Mr. Sherwood's 
box ; ono from his brother, one from a neigh- 
boring clergyman, asking nn exchange; the 
thir-d — did his eyes deceive him ? — « n» directed, 
in the dashing, off-hand chirogrnphy of Kate 
Vivian, to 11 Mr. .lame s Shcrwuod." 

"What now?" ho thought, as he wondering- 
ly tore open tho envelope, and unfolded two 
closed \ -\\ r i : : » ■ 1 1 ■•!.• • 11<- read as follows: 

is Microti, and he * ho hm* proved disobedient to It* require- 
ment* has committed a foaiful bin. Ten yean ago you 
won the love of a sincere, pure-minded, t run ting glrL You 
married her, promising to lore, teuderiy cherish, sad ears 
for her, as long a* you both should live. How have yon 
fulfilled that prv.mii*! Have you, forgetting yourself, 
sought to smooth her pa'.h* ay fur her, dav Ly dav : cheer- 

and darn ] 
« I hare 
ahoav life 
constat In 
trouble* h! 

*ne time In the family uf a man 

value neatly Biting and 
you cU, he value, (bo hap, 
I- »■■•:.! fto* of a pure ai 


oca <;»• »t. AmruU till 


M I have boon thinking about you this evening, and 
have taken it into my bend (o write you a h*Urr. While 
I was nt your house, two year* spa, I Interested say m If la 
studying your mcnt.-U nn I moral development*, I" Iram 
your object in life, your idea uf hnpplneas, your rlevs uf 
duty. I must confess frankly that tho result of my In- 
vostigntl ni »ai n>>t nt nil flattering to yon. As far a* I 
could learn your nature, from its outaard manifettatu-us 
it is nn intetwly -< I It - It ■ :.e. 

M Ai I und. r/tand it, the mainsprings of human action 
ar^ three: duty, bencvuKnce, s<ln*hneM. Neither duly 
nor benevoli nee ever prompted you toseold and grumUe at 
your wife — making yourself dUagreeable and her unhappy 
— because, perchance, *hc had made an ill lilt ;ng g irm> r.l, 
burned the coffee, or forgotten to make tho gravy, only 
IKllflsfinrns. and a low form of selfishness, prompted you. 
Neither duty nor benevolence influenced you la treating 
your wife with the uukindnc-s and neglect which you uni- 
formly did while I was there. S* ifl-hne*» — only •< Holi- 
ness — of the coarsest, rudest form. You are nut happy. 
You can not be. The two i bjects of life are: Er*t, holi- 
ness; second, happiness; To tho attainment uf the for- 
mer, forgetfulncss of self, love for God and our fellow, 
beings — a love which manifests itself in kind words, gen- 
erous deeds, self-sacrifices, little acts of nobleness and 
love in everyday life — is essential. Evidently your object 
in life is not the attainment of holiness. It tuu«t lin n bo 
happiness, and a failure at thatl In a blind, ignorant, 
groping way you are seeking happiness, and, continually 
baffled, continually- disappointed, you are vexed, angry, 
irritated, and out of humor with every one tat that for 
which you alone are to blame. 

"You profess to be a teacher of righteousness, yet how 
ignorant you are of the first principles of Christianity! 
4 Love is the fulfilling of the law.' 'God is Ijove.' Love 
is the essence of Christianity. By k love* I mean all true 
love, divine and human. All true love is divn e, and he 
who scoffs at love blasphemes. Love was piven Is lead us 
out of and above self; to a purer, higher life; to God. It 

in you it' -t Ik*. 

him. W. n't you I! Urate him for my b oefll! If you 

•'Truatlng that you are snnVimtly nobl" to accept all 
that I have saiJ, In the isrw spirit of candor and good- 

*»I remain your hunr«t and tlnc-re frimd, 

" Katk Vivian." 

Mrs. Sherwood's supper was uncriticUed that 
night. If the tea was too strong, or the biscuit 
not quite right, Mr. Sherwood did not know it. 
He utc in silence, and immediately retired to 
his study. For weeks lie was the victim of vio- 
lent and conflicting emotions. At first surprise 
and indignation, then bitterness and a feeling 
of injured innocence, finally a settled convic- 
tion of the truth of all Kate had said — a convic- 
tion that he would not have acknowledged even 
to himself — took possession of him. The an- 
gel in him was awakened, was beginning to 
assert her authority, and the demon, so long 
master, stood on his defense. A fearful soul- 
conflict followed. Mrs. Sherwood only knew 
that her husband was rocrved and fitful ii;c- 
t imcs moody, sometimes petulant, and sometimes 



strangely kind and thoughtful for her. They 
were "strangers yet," for he lacked that large- 
ness of nature that would come to her, acknowl- 
edging his past unkindness, telling her all his 
heart, and promising that henceforth love should 
reign in their household. Unkind ? He had 
not been unkind — oh no ! Things had not al- 
ways run smoothly, he had had his annoyances, 
perhaps he had not always been patient under 
them — one can not always control one's self — 
and perhaps Nellie had had more labors and 
trials than he had realized. At any rate he 
should always be kind to her, and make her 
happy, of course. Hadn't he always done so? 

The angel was very feeble from her long im- 
prisonment. Air, exercise, and time strength- 
ened her. 


The next summer Kate wrote to Alice Graves 
as follows : 

" The millennium is coming ! What do you think has 
happened ? James Sherwood has made Nellie a present 
of a sewing-machine. My poor sis is in the seventh heav- 
en over it. You see she has always been dying for one, 
she did want so much to find a little time for reading and 
writing ; but, then, she said she didn't suppose she could 
ever see through one — she never had any ingenuity — and 
she should only break needles and waste thread. Well, 
you know that piece in Harper's about that wonderful sew- 
ing-machine so like the letter 1 G.' She was telling Em 
Heath about it, and saying if she could only get time to 
write another Sunday-school book she thought she could 
earn one. James happened to overhear her, and when he 
went to New York made a hunt among the sewing-ma- 
chines till he found the right one, and sent it to her for a 
surprise. She wrote me the gayest letter I have had from 
her in years; said she had all her summer sewing done, 
and was looking forward to hours and hours of reading that 
would make her forget she wasn't a girl again. She says 
her machine will braid, hem, fell, and do all sorts of things. 
I don't know but it washes the dishes, and takes care of the 
baby by the way she runs on about it. Any way I am glad 
she has it. She said James was 1 very kind' now, and that 
the future looked brighter to her than it had done for many 
years. I grant you the victory, ma chere, in the argument 
we held last August in the arbor. That sewing-machine 
has revealed the angel in James Sherwood to my heretofore 
unbelieving eyes. Yes ; I can see every feather in its 
wings, and every fold in its snowy drapery. Are you 
satisfied ?" 


But the sewing-machine was destined to re- 
veal another angel to Kate ; even the Angel of 

" See what an odd document somebody let 
fall in our office to-day !" said Guy Worthing- 
ton, the superintendent of the salesroom of the 
, sewing-machine establishment, to his friend and 
confidant, Fred Elmore. "The envelope was 
gone, so I couldn't send it to the individual for 
whose benefit it appears to have been written. 
Would you return it to the fair author, or pre- 
serve it as a curiosity ?" 

" What is it ? A* love-letter ?" 

"Doesn't strike me that it is. It appears to 
be addressed to a parson, and charges him with 
all sorts of iniquities ; being a bear in his family, 
and what not ; then there is a high-flown dis- 
quisition on love; and the document finally 
winds up with an exhortation to him to repent 
and change his course. Oh, it's rich ! The 

lady is a regular little pepper-box whoever she 

"Let's have it ;" and Ered Elmore tipped back 
in his easy-chair, elevated his feet at some dis- 
tance above his head, and was soon buried in 
the perusal of the manuscript in question. 

" Kate Vivian. A pretty name," said Fred, 
as he threw the letter upon the table. "Pretty 
penmanship, too; has character in it." 

"Character! I should think so. Won't the 
man who marries her catch a Tartar? Whew ! 
Such high and mighty ideas on the duties of 
husbands ! It fairly takes my breath away to 
think of it ! She's smart though, by George ! 
I'd give half a year's salary to become acquaint- 
ed with her." 

"You might send her the letter with a polite 
note, telling how it fell into your hands, and so 
worded as to require an answer." 

"That's so! I'll do it!" And, suiting the 
action to the word, Guy Worthington drew up 
a package of note-paper and fell to writing. 
After several unsuccessful attempts, resulting in 
the sacrifice of considerable stationery, he at 
length produced a specimen of composition and 
chirography which Fred pronounced faultless. 

" Hemlock Grove ! Have you the least idea 
in what portion of our terrestrial sphere this very 
spicy grove is situated?" asked Guy, as he fold- 
ed the note. 

"There is such a place in the western part 
of the State, somewhere in the vicinity of the 
renowned village of Algiers, where I have an 
uncle. I remember hearing the name men- 
tioned when I was there years ago." 

"No doubt that's the very spot. At any 
rate here goes for 4 Hemlock Grove, New York.' 
Heigh-ho ! Shall I get an answer in a week ?" 

"If ever. What will you wager, now, she 
isn't an old maid between fifty and sixty, with 
gray hair and spectacles ?" 

" Any thing. I tell you she isn't over twenty- 
two, is tall and handsome, with large dark eyes 
and raven locks — and is brilliant, spicy, and 
original. I do like to sec a woman who isn't 
run in the common mould." 

"I hope you won't be disappointed; but I 
haven't the least idea she's under thirty." 

"You're a bear. I shall ask her for her 
carte de visite in my next." 

Guy watched the post-office anxiously for 
one, two, three weeks. At last a missive in a 
lady's hand, post-marked "Berlin Centre," ap- 
peared. He tore it open eagerly. It was a 
brief, dignified note of acknowledgment, giving 
no opportunity for a reply without positive rude- 

"Anyway, I've found out one thing. She 
lives in ' Berlin Centre,' wherever that may be." 

A reference to the Post-office Directory show- 
ed Guy that it was in the same county with " Al- 

" Hurrah ! I say, Fred, don't you want to go 
up and visit your uncle this summer, with an 
agreeable companion ? I've been thinking where 
I'd spend my vacation, and this is just the thing !" 


"Of BOOTH I ■ ill. I've a pretty coa»in tl 
too, who must Ik? a young lady by this lime, 
if your tlivin ity turn* out to be a vinegar-t 
spinster — which is more than likely yot 
of despair will mm a silver lining 

llrr bfidal j-n 

be sure t 
work thai 

t Lit K» 


younp gentlemen cn*enncvu » biu|>i 
iiouj»c of Mr. Ira llamwii, with Mi** ! 
do the honor* for them, 

Susie Harrison wm o roay -cheeked, 
eyed farmer's daughter, full of health an* 
fulness, who ehurned butter, made ohocae 
waaliod dishca, and sometime* helped u 
cows and feed the pig*. Got, who ha 
incd her a delicate, p4dcn-haired, cthen 
of maiden, like those in picture*. wb< 
their time sitting around in delU and , 
dreaaed up in their Sunday • beat, wa 
pointed. But Susio wa* pleaaanl, ern*il 
well educated withaJ ; to that after tho I 
davs ther were the heat of* friends, and 
end of a werk our hero mifht hart »- 
at the kitchen tink wiping dsshea, with 
moth cheeked linen apron pinned ttf» I 
of him. and a trim little figure «»A t 
face working al his side 



minds, has fur i 
c n* ft to aim pi if i 


I tillage, abowt t 
ly there by the na 

after hi* arriral. 

"Oh yea; it's the nr 
and a half miles dUtant 

"IK, yn U know oar f 
of Vidian ?" 

No family of chat nam* 1 "re '• n To«nx 
lad? tearhing the sclrct scbi-J there named 
Koto Vmup ' 

Guy glanced triumphantly al Kred as Ma*** 
•aid "gammy lady." 

*• Whil sort • i * person is she 1 naked Fred 

'•Oh. site's splendi.i: You ooghl lo know 
her. And that reminds me that her srhnul h> 
going to ha»e a ptrnie oe\t werk, and we'll all 
go. She u4d me to invite my frsrnJo* 

All »« «l i . / . • i) «| ■ | f , v 

Tho picnic came in due time, and with it tha 
long looked-for introduction to Mia* Visian 
Sho proved to I* not sparkling and sharp, a* 
Guy had imagined, but rcwrnrd and diguibed. 
with just sufficient spice and originality to 
tnako Iter interesting io conrer*ai*on. Gny 
was sal i» tied. 

Tho picnic was cloarlr followed hr driven, 
ramble*, and so on. Tho four weeks' mention 
pu.**cd all too rapidly. Fred carried away with 
him at it* close a promise from the country 
school-mistress to correspond, and during the 
following autumn and winter lengthy docu- 
ments paascd weekly between Berlin Centre 
and New York. Guy Worth ingt»»n, probably 
unaware of this, took n trip to Berlin Centre in 
May, staid three day*, and returned to his busi- 
ness " a sadder and a wiser man." 

The next August n double wedding took 
place at Hemlock Grove. Alice Grates be- 
came Mrs, Ned Armstrong. We hoj* she 
found her angel without having to carve him 

mane time intrude*! ma k lor. an 

r the srieac* of Geography. |f 
4* el* eO< • ••in bringing this 
brenttfel and wsr/ol »tu 1* within the grasp of* 
the little folks, and making it both Interesting 
and peaaannt. her pwrpoae will he fully orcooa- 
■Mil " The re* alt t4 her »rll moaat labors 
lira brsure • * in l He < ' a dia^t |*r?>» HIet 

moeh matter as a page > 4 this Madeline It is ia» 

awral at Kalri^h. North Carolina, in I *«*-•, and It 
dwcWred lo ho - A tow and p*a*l hook, eotirrl/ 
Sowtbrrw. and Oaelj adapted to the war el Cow*. 
Oawo Pah ants " The prwe Is threw dollar*, no 
aanowaevd by the pwUuber* that entry, how. 
oeee, hoora tho knAavlkr's peWw aaarh of Ivo 
d»lUr* We t p|«jse thai the) tain* of Con fed- 
crwia aaoejey had c er *Vmo~ 

The Work efarna with the atawal *' 1 :* I •• 
sossft,* la wkath the » ana* ..**ats fer gr« • 
rra) h*ral kavw ledge are tuid tLal 

• •4 

sw* m in 

I M 
a I 

«*.s k. • « saas < * na*laf W 
■ ( asplaining the " MmH OS* the 

r • a^* i : -« i* a 
i ahnaau m+u u uw N«ta 

Mo TVm 

f . . u ejn eaOaO li» Una « ( U»U HMI • t* taw 

The " I Laces of Men" hare a cbAflrr. " Th'ae 
in Kurope and Amrrtca are m<-*tlj nhitr. and 

acliools an*l cnuretiea. an 1 live tn f . r* *~ stsie. 
Tho Aaantiro, or Mon r>! 4a people, are a uaiet 
and | lodding race, but when edueatrd are srnai- 
bie and shrewd. When they ercr berume coo- 
Ycrted ther hold fast their profeasf.-n. and are 
not ftckle Uke aonM races." The Malay* " an 
black and have wool on their heads hot not tike 
tho African. They are very Aereo, aod will 
die rather than be made slave*. They eat the 
fleah of their enemies, and are called cannibal*.'' 
The African race, as moat likely to he of inter- 
cot, cornea in for a longer account than if ac- 



corded to any other. Young Dixie is informed 

"The African or negro race is found in Africa. They 
nre slothf ul unrl vicioiiH, but possess little cunning. They 
are very cruel to each other, and when they have war 
they sell their prisoners, to tin; white people for slaves. 
They know nothing of Jesus, and the climate of Africa is 
BO unhealthy that white people can scarcely go there to 
preach to them. The Blares who are found in America 
are in much better condition. They are better fed, better 
clothed, and better instructed, than in their native coun- 
try. These people are the descendants of I lam, the son 
of Noah, who was cursed because he did not treat his fa- 
ther with respect. It was told him that he should serve 
his brethren forever. That would seem a hard sentence; 
but it was probably done to show other children how wick- 
ed it was to treat their parents so. We can not tell how 
they came to be black and have wool on their heads." 

This Dixian Geography wholly ignores the 
existence of Europe. Possibly this was intend- 
ed as a practical way of punishing England and 
France for not promptly recognizing the South- 
ern Confederacy. Of the United Suites it is 
said — 

"This was once the most prosperous country in tbfl 
world. Nearly a hundred years ago it belonged to Kn- 
gland ; but the English made such hard laws that the 
people said they would not obey them. After a long and 
bloody war of seven years they gained their independence ; 
and for many years wire prosperous and happy. In the 
mean time both English and American ships went to Afri- 
ca and brought away many of these poor heathen negroes, 
aud sold them for slaves. Some people said it was wrong, 
and asked the King of Kngland to stop it. He replied that 
'he knew it was wrong; but that the slave-trade brought 
much money Into his treasury, and it should continue.' 
Bat both countries afterward did pass laws to stop this 
trade. In a few years the Northern State-', finding the 
climate too cold for the negro to be profitable, sold them 
to the people living farther South. 

"Then the Northern States passed laws to forbid any 
person owning slaves in their borders. Then the North- 
ern pe >ple began to preach, to lecture, and to write about 
the sin of slavery. The money for which they sold their 
slaves was now partly spent in trying to persuade the 
Southern States to send their slaves back to Africa. And 
when the Territories were settled they were not willing 
for any of them to become slaveholding. Tins would 
soon have made the North stronger than the South; and 
many of the Northern men said they would vote for a law 
to free all the negroes in the country. The Southern men 
tried to show them how unfair this would be ; but still 
they kept on. 

M In the year 1SG0 the Abolitionists became strong 
enough to elect one of their men for President. Abraham 
Lincoln was a weak man, and the South believed he 
would allow laws to be made which would deprive them 
of their rights. So the Southern States seceded, and 
elected Jefferson Davis to be their President. This so en- 
raged President Lincoln that he declared war, and lias 
exhausted nearly all the strength of his nation in a vain 
attempt to whip the South back into the Union. Thou- 
sands of lives have been lost, and the earth has been 
drenched with blood; but still Abraham is uuable to con- 
quer the 'rebels,' as he calls the South. The South only 
asked to be let alone, and to divide the public property 
equally. It would have been wise in the North to have 
said to her Southern sisters, 'If you are not content to 
dwell with us longer, depart in peace. We will divide the 
inheritance with you, and may you be a great nation.' " 

The character of the people of the United 
States is thus briefly summed up : 

"The people are ingenious and enterprising, and are 
noted for their tact in 1 driving a bargain.' They are re- 
fined and intelligent on all subjects but that of negro 
slavery ; on this they are mad." 

The Southern Confederacy naturally occu- 

I pies the most prominent place in this "entirely 
Southern" Geography. The following is the 
general account of the Confederacy: 

"These States lie South of the United States, and pos- 
sess a warmer country. The latter are mostly suited to 
raising grain and cattle, while the former grow more cot- 
ton, rice, tobacco, and sugar-cane, with some cattle and 
much grain. A large portion of the countiy lies on the 
sea-coast, and is level and sandy. The interior portions 
are hilly and mountainous. 

"This country is well watered by large rivers, and has 
many fine harbors. On some of these harbors are large 
cities ; but the Confederate States possess few ships, and 
her cities do not grow so fast as if there were more com- 
merce. But we have reason to hope that in a few years 
we shall not fall behind any nation in point of commerce 
or ships to cany it on. 

"This is a great country! The Yankees thought to 
starve us out when they sent their ships of war to guard 
our sea-port towns. Put we have learned to make many 
things ; to do without many others ; and above all to trust 
in the smiles of the God of battles. We had few guns, 
little ammunition, and not much of any thing but food, 
cotton, and tobacco; but the people helped themselves, 
and God helped the people. We were considered an indo- 
lent, weak people, but our enemies have found us strong 
because we had justice on our side. 

" The Southern people arc noted for being high-minded 
and courteous. A stranger seldom lacks friends in this 
country. Much of the field work is done by slaves. These 
are generally well used, and often have as much money 
as their master and mistresses. They are contented and 
happy, and many of them are Christians. The i-in of the 
South lies not in holding slaves, but they are sometimes 
mistreated. Let all the little b>ys and girls remember 
that slaves arc human, and that God will hold them to 
account for treating them with injustice. 

"The Southern Confederacy is at present a sad coun- 
try; but President Davis is a good and wise man, and 
many of the generals and other officers of the army are 
pious. There are many good praying people in the land ; 
so we may hope that our cause will prosper. ' When the 
righteous are in authority the nation rejoiceth; but when 
the wicked bear rule the nation moumeth.' Then re- 
member, little boys, when you are men never to vote for 
a bad man to govern the country." 

Then follow brief accounts of the separate 
States of the Confederacy, the "inevitable ne- 
gro," and prophecies of the future, occupying a 
considerable share of the limited space at the 
command of the author. 

In Virginia we arc told : 

"The higher class of society is noted for hospitality and 
high living. Some of these claim to be descended from 
Pocahontas, which they consider a great honor. The 
State has many fine rivers ; the Potomac and the James 
are the largest. There are several railroads and canals, 
and one of the finest harbors in the world. Norfolk was 
the main sea-port town, and contained a fine navy-yard ; 
but the enemy have spoiled it very much. Richmond city 
is the capital of the State. President Davis resides there, 
and Congress meets there to make laws. There is said 
to be much wickedness in the city. 

" There are many planters who own large numbers of 
slaves. These are generally well treated, and are as hap- 
py a people as any under the sun. If they are sick master 
sends for the doctor ; if the crop is short, they are sure of 
enough to save life; if they are growing old they know 
they will be provided for ; and in time of war they gen- 
erally remain quietly at home, while the master goes and 
spills his blood for the country." 

In North Carolina — 

"The people are noted for their honesty, and for being 
1 slow but sure. 1 No braver men fought in the war for in- 
dependence than those of North Carolina. While some 
few cowards refused to fight for their country, it is a no- 
table fact that nearly all of them were of the ignorant 



fio*»l, but th# 
» labor U prr- 

class, and many of them did not know what patriotn-m 
was. We should feel as much pity for them u contempt, 
because they had not been properly taught, baueattoo 
was much neglected in the Old North State until within a 
few years pa.-t. She has now as many good schools and 
colleges as anv sister State. Nearly every child no pi 
an education here if he will be industrious. %\ ho »lll be 
ignorant F 

South Carolina " is a small State, often calk J 
the Palmetto Suite :" 

"This State was the first State to secede. Many per- 
pons blamed the S.uth Carolinian* for leaving the I nlon 
too soon; but it may hare been beat; It is Imp*** i we 
us to decide. The war would hare come soooer or later. 
God usually punishes « icked nation* by war. I mean by 
this that wheu people become too wicked He give* llwm 
over to hardnesa of heart t-» work out their o»n punt* i. 
mcnt, and Fometimes de truction. How much be»ter for 
all to be good ! 

"The psejas of till* State are noted for their ehlealry. 
You do not understand thU? Well, when any me Im- 
p si s up >:i tli in, the r m< tt • i- to p l - ' J r ? *" 

n person badly treated, they foe I bound to Iwlp lm. 
Tli. ir leading men have sometime t*en called * bot-bcad- 
cd,' because they arc so quirk to rr*ent i 

"The upper claare* are educated ■ 
poor are generally Ignorant. Moat « 
fonued by slave*. There are hardly so am iraMM *• m | 
North Carolina and Virginia; but thry hare the <»>»p*l 
preached to them, and «n* grncrally r««ntrnt'«i ao«l b*rvT- 

"On the coast lie a chain of beautiful Ulaad*. which 
are covered with live-oak, latin I with bkoeome a* I r,y aa 
your hat, and the flnrt flrldt m * r a bland rc4loa. Ikit 
the enemy hive »p ll d m««t »< the«r, art I Jm manr cf 
the negroes who tilled the laud They |.4d tba tUeee 
tlu'y were free, and even f'-rror-l reglmeou c4 them t> 
fight their master.. B* the ne-rx> U to- cowardly for a 
soldier, aud so ho I* of tut Utile terries la hia Southern 

In Alabama 44 the pcoplo ore mostly plant- 
ers, and own many blares. These arc grncr- 
ally well trcateil. and hare tho Gospel preached 
to them." In Louisiana M tho pcoplo hare been 
robbed and sent from their home* in many ( 
cases, and the town* and cities pillaged and 
burnt but the State ''has nobly done her i 
part," and has "produced the gallant Ilcaurc- , 
gard, the General whoi»c name is familiar in 
every household." Arknn*as " hat suffered ter- 
ribly during the war. The enemy hare rav- 
aged nearly the whole of it, and the wrongs of 
the jieoj-le are heart-rending. But there U a . 
God of Vengeance, and ere long these suffer- 
ings will be avenged." Missouri is * 4 the scc- 
ond Suite in size in the Confederacy. The peo- 
ple were much divided, and did not secede with 
that unanimity which most of the other States 
did. But the brave spirits there will yet con- \ 
quer, and this will be one of the finest States in 
the Confederacy. The Indians, from Indinn 
Territory, have joined the Southern army, and 
made themselves useful to our cause." — " K | .- 
tneky, like Missouri, was much divided in sen- 
timent when the war broke out; but it is be- 
lieved that when the matter is left to the peo- 
ple to decide they will declare themselves South- 
erners. Many of her gallant sons are fighting 
for Southern rights." Tennessee comes last; 
and of this State it is said : 

"Many hard battles have been foucht here during the 
war of Independence. But though she is oppressed now 
and suffers much, no oue fears for Tennessee. She is no- 

bly doing tur part, and a Inn the war 1» i n Jed she will 

sliall s»x>n I* bbs-ed with the glorious ih»». iVaee" 
IVacvlt Ftaac*!!! Oh, who will not appreciate lVace 
a lu n it cutnc* r* 

With this pious ejaculati< n * '.. - - IV.. i 1..M. 
Then comes a bcrics of lessons in the form of 
qttestiou and answer. Of these we extract a 

few : 

* Q.—lf the ptople of the l ulled Stales had always 
elected fc-uod mm for», what would have teen lbs 


u 4.-Wo should bar* bad no war. 
>. Q _Wbv f 

"A. — Bccaure errry man woald hare been willing to 
treat oihers Justly, and tlx re ■ otdd hare bran no cause fur 

" (,» — Are thasa jadgmecU far oar sins aloorf 

" A —They are partly t«r our sin*, and paitly fur the 
■Ins of ostr forefathers. 

u Ql How do the Indians In Georgia stand hi regard 

to the prrerat ttmrgle f< r Iv. !t pendene* f 

*• J.— They Uke side* with the xxilh, and n,;hi a lib 

« ^._\Vhat may he a* 11 of the t'nllad Si a tea f 

»« A It wm one* the must prosperous country in tha 

• < is lis e ndltioa now ? 

it about this great calamity ? 
It «• and arartre f the Yaokrr Da* loo. 
the i tif.'<r»!. Ktatrn air ressuuatre? 
aa Us la ad tsaMM fee, and bU!« far, some- 
a fTaf*d c%JSntt*crvr • b 1 1 bligli aea*. 
: U the prevent dra«baek I • our r<«umerre? 
laUaful lUekada trlhc mUhUc sod U 1- 


-It runs 

THi: nl 1 SIDE WOULD. 

arorking woman Is »och a fact. The theoretic 
woman is the gentle daughter, titter, or wife, 
defended from cm! within the magic circle of 
home ; and she is certainly more agreeable as 
an ideal than tho wearied, worried, anxious 
workine: woman. Ncrcrthclcas the working 

a alone, not including those in domestic 

cause of the Union ; wives and daughters of men 
whose income died with them ; young girls often 
the sole snpport of their families ; any thing 
feminine, lorn or adopted, as a daughter of ■ the 
good g«*ldc*s of Poverty. ■ 

Their world is an outside world of cold nnd 
darkness, having no point of contact with tlint 
woman-world in which women arc the objects 
of the gallantry and solicitude of men. Female 
operatives arc "the worst taught and worst paid 
of the laboring classes. I nrc*tigat ion of their con- 
dition amply justifies the '* Protectirc Unions" 
lately organized in their behalf, and furnishes 
pregnant matter for appals through the press 



and lecture room. Investigation does more. It 
opens up as intricate a labyrinth as ever puzzled 
a reformer. The surface evils present enormous 
difficulties ; but coming to tug at them we find 
that their roots strike down deep into our pres- 
ent system of living, which is not framed to meet 
the wants of woman as a worker. 

The theory of female education, let parents 
and guardians deny it in what terms of elegant 
rdprobation they will, makes a girl's early life 
a sort of probation before a marriage by which 
she is to be supported. Facts prove it. The 
majority of fathers are not men of wealth, and 
with a few exceptions no man expects to live 
forever; so the father educates his son with a 
view to a trade or a profession. If my young 
master whimpers, shows want of pluck, or flags 
at his tasks, he is brought up sharply with " And 
how then do you expect to make your way in 
the world ?" He is early indoctrinated in his fu- 
ture responsibilities, and every successive year is 
thus made to grind the axe with which the 
young man is to hew his way through the forest 
of difficulty. 

Is the same anxious foresight exercised in be- 
half of the daughter, apparently liable to the 
same conflict, and worse armed by nature for 
the strife ? The average girl is the answer ; and 
it is only adducing facts, that have grown trite 
from frequent urging, to say that she is generally 
ignorant of the first principles of that school in 
which it could harm no woman to take a degree 
— the Domestic School ; that it is a question, if 
she be any thing but a bungler, at that art of 
sewing to which women are not born as to breath- 
ing ; that she has absorbed the miscellaneous 
mass of so-called accomplishments thrust upon 
her without reference to her tastes or mental 
calibre as a sponge does water; and that the 
two or three years succeeding school life will be 
tolerably sure to squeeze it all out of her, while 
her knowledge of the world is only " gleanings" 
from novels and the masculine element at home. 
Since our fathers and mothers are not the most 
heartless in the world, on the contrary, a tender 
and obedient race, will any one believe, in the 
face of the facts above stated, that there is de- 
liberately anticipated for this most helpless creat- 
ure that struggle for which her brother is so care- 
fully armed ? 

I return to my premises. The practice of 
female education looks directly and entirely to 
what its theory so carefully eschews — marriage 
as woman's resource ; and there is required 
properly to meet the case a husband insured 
against death, failure, illness, or tendencies to 
scoundrelism, because, in the event of either 
contingency, there is no adequate provision for 
her. Though we concede that a large number 
of women are born in the deepest poverty, and 
a large number never achieve marriage, and a 
large number become widows, or marry unhap- 
pily, and that such women are forced into self- 
dependence, there is a general feeling that bus- 
iness training, capacity, and energy are not for 
the ideal woman ; and any proposition facing 
Vol. XXXIII.— No. 193.— H 

squarely the fact of woman as an independent 
laborer, and providing for its necessities, is met 
in the main by indifference or decided opposi- 
tion. I have heard it argued that, by opening 
to women more avenues of labor at fairer rates, 
they would be made independent of marriage 
or unfit for it, and there would be an end of the 
census — an argument in which, it seems to me, 
there is only one good thing : the beautiful 
humility with which gentlemen consider them- 
selves accepted as the least of two evils. I 
think that men not only wrong themselves by 
such arguments, but draw their conclusions from 
mistaken premises and a very limited knowl- 
edge of woman nature ; for responsibility does 
not fit on feminine as on masculine shoulders. 
The majority — and I speak of the most ener- 
getic women I have ever known — assume the 
burden unwillingly, bear it wearily, and would 
lay it down most gladly ; and surely such a 
woman is capable of an intelligent sympathy 
with her husband that can not reasonably be 
expected from the thoughtless and petted wife, 
who " can not see why Harry should be so tired 
and grave" ("cross," she calls it) 4 { when he 
has nothing to do but to lounge down-town a 
few hours," and can never be made to compre- 
hend that the man constantly carries house, 
wife, and children on his shoulders. There 
must be the same difference between the grati- 
tude and tenderness of the two women as be- 
tween experience and hearsay : the one know- 
ing theoretically that her husband 

"Commits his body 
To painful labor both by sea and land, 
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, 
While she lies warm at home safe and secure;" 

the other understanding experimentally what is 
the anxiety of that "labor," and what the se- 
verity of those " storms" from which she is so 

It is conceded that a helper or sympathizer, 
to be effective, must have some knowledge of 
what he is to do or speak about, and that a wife 
is to share and sympathize with the anxieties 
of her husband. How, then, is it one of her 
best qualifications to be entirely ignorant of 
their nature? The intelligent, self-controlled 
nature is capable of docility, can be moved by 
reason, can understand an argument, is open to 
conviction. The ignorant, undeveloped nature, 
unless a very rare one, is apt to be "mulish" — 
not a very flattering epithet ; but I call much- 
tried husbands to testify if there is another 
word in the English language that so exact- 
ly sums the frivolous perversities and shallow 
wrong-headedness of their pettish and undisci- 
plined wives ? Which of the two natures is the 
true ideal? And if the question was put to 
ballot whether all women shall be instructed in 
a trade or profession as a resource in case of 
emergency, what do you think would be the 
vote of sick and dying husbands and fathers 
tormented with anxiety about helpless wives 
and children ? 

There are those who say that any effort to 



extend the province of women is in opposition 
to the will of God, as expressed in Revelation ; 
but I can not find it so set down. When M. 
Paul says, "I will that the younger puna 
marry, Lear children, guide the house, g'nc 
none" occasion to the adversary to speak re- 
proachfully," there is not only the law hut the 
prophecy "of whatever makes the delight of a 
woman's life ; hut there arc the women to whom 
is never given the "house" to guide ; there are 
the widows, some bereaved by death, and some 
by the devil; some with children, some with- 
out; there arc the daughters and sisters, who 
become as mothers to their parents, or the 
younger members of their family. Is it un\ 
where said of these that they shall work at J 
starvation prices, and under every possible coil- I 
dition of hardship? 1>»k-s God really endow j 
woman alone, out of the whole crcution, with 
faculties which it is a 6in for her to use? nnd ; 
does he place her daily nnd hourly in c\ig< n 
cies which it is a sin for her effectually to meet? I 
In that case there should Ik* only ns many wo- 
men as arc quite sure of getting husbands, war- i 
ranted, of course, to outlive them ; f ■ the pres- 
ent system of female labor is n MM?NI injus- ; 
tice, and affords opportunity for much actual o|»- j 
prcssion ; and all women should l«c after « nc 
model, for there is now a disheartening amount 
of power wasted on women. 

There arc m.iin women w ln-m no Application, 
however conscientious, can mnke into inod<l j 
housewives and deft seamstresses, as there are 
many whom no process can turn out in any oth- 
er shape; there arc women with great executive 
ability, and women with a peculiar n ptit title for I 
teaching, and women with a taste for mathe- 
matics, and women with a turn for InnguagBf, I 
and women with what .<!•• called good hllliltOSl I 
heads. The century has been oppressed] all at > 
once with ji Mrs. lirowning, u Jenny land, a! 
"George Elliot," a Mis. St,, we, ft Catherine 

Beecher, i Bom ilnnlmr. a "(Kill Hamilton," 

a Harriet Hosmcr, a Florence Nightingale, to 
say nothing of the lesser lights that nearly put 
our eyes out on every side. Speaking with all 
due reverence, was it wise of the Iyord to bestow 
these great gifts on women? for He did bestow 
them. Ought not thc>c women to hide their 
talents in a napkin, like the man in the parable? j 
If so, then there is better ju>tice done to c\ - r. 
frog that has not only disposition and legs but j 
space to jump in : every caterpillar that comes 
to wings; every salmon that leaps up the falls; 
every tly that has h ave to live its life. If BDt, 
if the opportunity for development be accorded 
to those women to whom God has given genius, 
is it not just as clearly due to women, to whom 
God has given labor for their ] union ? and once 
concede that it is right for a woman to work at 
all, and you have conceded that almost even- 
other fact connected with the present system of 
female labor is wrong. 

The very first consequence is the demand 
that more avenues of industry shall be opened 
to women who must work, and for whom there 

is not work enough; and yet our prejudices are 
a little startled when we find women at oceu- 
PttfOM more unu-ual than scann:rcs>ing and 
teaching. I confess to an indiudual shrinking 
from the thought of woman on the rostrum— a 
public fj>eaker addressing a crowd; and \ct I 
h ar i.' \ ■ > . ii a woman, who joins a woiuau's 
modesty to a rare eloquence, w ho uses her tal- 
ents worthily, and who declares that she had 
tried to cam a living in ways usual to women, 
and had failed. Which i- right, those w ho think 
that a woman should never be an orator, or God, 
who made her an orator? Granting that all 
women are adapted to the two occupation* above 
quoted, which is by no mean* the case, nil wo- 
men can not live by them, l»ecause the suj ply 
of operatives in these departments is already far 
in advance of the demand. We shirk the fact 
of woman a* a worker, and shrink from educat- 
ing her to face it. As a consequence, in six 
caws out of ten, the woman, thru*t suddenly 

a loss, her faculties all abroad, and herself com- 
pelled to seise on tho fir*t method of money- 
making of which she has or can acquire a smat- 
tering. Hence the complaint that the majority 
of women «ho apply for employment under- 
stand nothing tlioroughly. And here is one 
cause of the fact that female operatives arc iho 
wor»t t«*id a* well as worst taught of the labor- 

•a«t that is the esc 

which is gloated 

tions. Hut the butcher, tho Uker, tho grocer, 
the landlord, the coal-dealer, tho shoemaker, 
the railroad companies charge her as much for 
•elf and children as they would jmitrr/anttlias. 
But granting the excuse. When a man, an in- 
stitution, or a company pays men in his or its 
service, they are paid for so much work done. 
Wo don't find any body saying to them, " I pay 
vou less to-dav because I find it costs vou less 
to lire than 1 thought, and unless I look sharp 

about to pay women for precisely the same work 
and re»jK»n»ibilities, as well performed and as 
well met, what bos he or they to do with how 
much it costs a woman to live? Why not pay 
her also for so much work done, and let her 
open her bank account if she can? It would be 
done with the finishing of this paragraph if any 
of you who have the power could but once com- 
prehend what those three little words, "a strug- 

riencc is the only exhaustive illustration, by sub- 
traction and squeezing you may approximate the 
realizing sense. 

Subtract from your own house cleanliness, 
conveniences, room, and ventilation, till you have 



reduced it to a room worth, six dollars per month 
in a tenement house. Subtract privacy and 
quiet, as in such a house every room hears dis- 
tinctly the clamor in every other room, and the 
din in the street and surrounding yards. Sub- 
tract every mouthful of fresh air, because what- 
ever your personal cleanliness there will pour in 
at your door and windows the reek of all the 
unwashed rooms and people, drains, standing 
pools, horrible cookery, stables, and factories in 
the neighborhood. Suppose yourself and children 
there, because at the rate at which you are paid 
you can afford to live nowhere else. Squeeze 
out of your life all hope, because by working 
from early morning often till midnight you can 
just earn money to remain where you are, and 
every day you grow weaker. Subtract from your 
table every thing but poor bread and weak black 
tea, often without sugar and milk. Subtract from 
your life all visits, walks, books, newspapers, and 
rides for self and children, to say nothing of more 
ambitious pleasures. Subtract from your ward- 
robe all but the clothes in which you are ashamed 
to see your children and yourself, and which are 
to be continually washed, darned, and patched to 
be kept in their present decency ; remembering 
that, as you are living now up to your last cent, 
new raiment is, of course, impossible. Squeeze 
out the strength and elasticity from your body, 
leaving only a dull sense of aching, fever, fa- 
tigue, and sleeplessness. 

A frightfully large number of women in this 
way do achieve the magnificent income of thirty- 
three cents a day; but as I have not statistics 
from which to be sure that this is the average 
we will grant you a little more. Say that you 
earn from three to four dollars a week. Sub- 
tract all cheering prospect for your children ; 
for at the earliest age possible they are to be set 
at work, to commence for themselves the life 
that you are now dragging out. You under- 
stand perfectly that there is no way out for you. 
You remember that you walked days in search 
of employment, and were on the verge of dis- 
traction ; and considered yourself supremely for- 
tunate to obtain this work, for which you are 
wretchedly paid, it is true, but you are paid the 
average price: your employers are fair men. 
You are not paid in uncurrent money, or cheated 
out of five or six cents on a dollar, under pre- 
tense of a general fund for illness, or obliged to 
wait two or three weeks for your money, or sav- 
agely abused and insulted, as happens to hun- 
dreds of others. You are not the exceptional 
case, but the average working woman, and have 
been tolerably fortunate, though you do work 
all the day and late into the night for an exist- 
ence, in which there is no rest, no change, no 
pleasure, no beauty, no ease, no improvement, 
and no special aim or incentive possible beyond 
the common life-preserving instinct. 

I have given an indifferent sketch after all, 
for I can find nothing gray enough to paint 
it to the life. There is too much spring and 
sparkle in our language to express a thing so 
thoroughly exhausted of flavor, coloring, and 

sweetness. But even as I outline it you would 
shudder at the possibility of a similar appeal 
being made in behalf of your wife and children. 
You are a wealthy man, a careful man, with 
property well invested, and every thing insured 
but said wife and daughters. Your wife is an 
admirable woman, who leans entirely on you, 
and who years ago acquired something face- 
tiously styled an "education," which she has 
been forgetting ever since. Your daughter — I 
have a little china shepherdess on my table. 
She has pink cheeks, a simper, a blue kirtle, 
yellow slippers, and a hollow back. Turn her 
face to the wall and there is your daughter, in 
an emergency. Your are a safe man ; but so 
was your neighbor Kegge, of the great firm of 
Barrel and Co. He was President of the Pot 
of Gold Company, with a capital of five mill- 
ions ; and there was a map of the country around 
the foot of the rainbow, and a scrap of the rain- 
bow itself, in his office. And yet Kegge's fine 
brown-stone house stares at you blankly now 
from out its curtainless windows, and you re- 
member with a chill how you saw Mrs. Kegge 
stealing away in the twilight with her little ones, 
and thought, if that were your wife and Jennie ! 
Ah ! riches have wings, even when there is no 
Pot of Gold in the case ; thieves break through 
and steal. Antonio's luck may be yours. And 
are there so many barriers, after all, between 
your wife and the working woman of whom we 
were talking ? 

At times you are concerned for your Jennie. 
She is the young lady about whose streamers, 
frisettes, train hoops, ankles, hats, back -hair, 
and general coquetry and shallowness, press and 
people are alternately serious and witty. But 
has she really any thing else allowed her besides 
development in back-hair and ends of ribbon ? 
She is a healthy girl, with an exuberance of an- 
imal spirits. She is not intellectual : your li- 
brary is to her the dullest room in the house. 
She is not musically inclined : she would cheer- 
fully bid her piano good-by forever. The house- 
hold labor devolves entirely on your servants ; 
the responsibility o.n her mother. What is left 
her in life but diamond dust ? She has surplus 
energy, and she works it off in her dresses and 
her flirtations. Suppose that instead she used 
it in acquiring the art of, let us say, printing? 
But now that I have written it I see that it looks 
absurd in this connection ; and yet it is a prof- 
itable and desirable art, and would be an admi- 
rable thing just now for Arabella Kegge, who 
last year outshone Jennie at Saratoga. 

There are hundreds of Arabella Kegges, who, 
in their day, have shone with varying degrees 
of splendor; there are thousands more who 
have never shone at all, but commenced the 
battle of life with their first recollection. Some 
of these find work on the hard and unequal con- 
ditions of which we have been speaking ; some 
fail — and yet live — in an abyss of which we 
know nothing, unless from hints gleaned here 
and there from daily papers, and the reports of 
charitable societies. Of these, even while we 



pity, we may say that no one is forced into 
crime— that "there are always resource*— that 
God deserts no one. But let us also recollect 
that the devil is old and wise. II.- might slip 
into our hands the tirst stone to throw in behalf 
of outraged virtue, but he docs not come to us, 
safe at home among our children, with sugges- 
tions revolting to womanhood, because 
would be sheer waste of temptation. We ure 
in condition to elaborate 1 a d /< n different ways 
out of the dilemma, anil can always fall Uu k on 
tliC river, which some one declares can always 
serve woman as a last resource. But the ri\cr 
shows blue and glancing through our windows 
as we sit and talk of it at our case — no more 
like the cold, sullen water washing against the 
foul wharf than our present physical and men- 
tal condition is like that of a woman Marred 
through successor du\<*. I* m;uiU-d. heart and 
body, made timid by <» ntinual failures and re- 
buff-, shivering, dying, faint, friendless — urged 
by instant dread of death, j*-rhaj «; frantic, 
perhaps, for her |>oor little hungry children, or 
brothers and sisters, at the end of all her little 
resources, shifts, and expedients — that is the 
pass at which hundreds are come, even now, as 
you read ; and at this pass the tempter, repulsed 
u hundred times before, slcp* in ngain. 

There ure charitable institutions, it is true, 
and doors that arc ncrcr clo*ed against the nu». 
cruble, and ears that arc never deaf to a cry for 
help; and so there are house*, and inns, and 
fires, and lights, on the very roads on which 
travelers, bewildered between storm and dark- 
ncss, walk oft" precipices, or wander blindly 
about till overtaken bj despair and death ; and 
there arc women — w>u and I, madam, are, of 
course among them — who arc born conquerors; 
there are women with faith and firm nets, dear 
perceptions, and readiness of resource that no- 
thing can shake; but this i» the superior, not 
the ordinary woman. The only one who has 
met Satan face to face and conquered enjoined [ 
on us nil to pray "that we might" — what? al- 
ways conquer temptation ? No ; that wo mar 
be "delivered from temptation." Our place, 
then, is not on the judgment-seat, but by the I 
world's highway, where, like the Samaritan, 
wo may find and save those nigh unto death. 
There are those beyond our help. There are 
others, urged on behind them by want of all 
things, whose perilous condition is a diri « t 
claim on the interest of any and every woman. 
If you have not a surplus hour or dollar, you 
have influence ; T>r if you think rightly you 
will find that good is just as infectious as evil. 
You arc only a single drop to the stream ; true, 
and the stream is dwindled, and trickles feebly 
around the old tree trunk imbedded in its midst. 1 

The appeal in behalf of working women is ' 
not unfamiliar. From time to time the subject 
has been spasmodically agitated. Protective 
Unions have been formed and failed; those of 
the present day might receive more encourage- 
ment. We hear as many discouraging voices 

' as the princess in the Arabian story heard from 
the stones in the hill. We are t< Id that wo- 
men are rash, lack self-control, are incapable of 
combined action, illogical, half-educated. Great 
it all. The freed men called out of yet pro- 
founder depths and were heard. I: is said that 
men will oppose the movement ; but where wo- 
men faint and falter men will take the matter 
up, because tho presence of a class in our midst 
under a pressure of hardship, that is constantly 
sinking them lower in tho scale, is detrimental 
to the national life; and because it will at last 
be clearly understood that under the existing 

but one, do yon see how drops rising from the 

ng thomsclvcs to other drop*, will descend 
n in a rainv impetus from heaven that will 
1 tho stream to full flood the old 


"I IT IT 1 1 a touch as drlirat* a* the Spring* 

' ' Are wakmed the beaded bloom*. 
The fern that ware*, and the moM that cling* 

Grow oo the silken gloom*, 
And a dew of Maal I* woven in 
lly the ooinlta* Un^r-loom*. 

Airy fratoan* of swinging vines, 

And Uittarflks dipped m gold. 
And the mercing curve* «f Gothic linos 

I >r*wn in the day* of obi, 
Glitter in bright and pearly beads 

fly the quick, white fingers told. 

The Uugh Is gar a* the » pork ling dyes. 

And the wit flies steely -bright. 
As pointle** needles with broken eyes 

Are passed in the failing light, 
Till the tjradrd flowers ore gathered up 

In their silken fold* at night. 

I think while the beautiful work i* done 

Of the arabesques of thought, 
I never forget to wind and run 

Round the hard lines overwrought, 
In life's mixed pattern of good and ill 

l>aily before me brought. 

Here and there ore some fadeless learee 

In the etony pattern cold, 
And a few green Modus give Mgn of sheaves 

If the threaded roots but hold; 
And a life perhaps I hove beaded o'er 

With a bcouty not of gold. 

CMtafH €m\] (flair. 

JUST as Ave were commenting last month upon 
the charming evening reception at the Acad- 
emy of Design the doors were opening to another 
evening for the private view of the Forty -first Ex- 
hibition. The peculiarity of private views is well 
known. It is that there is no privacy and no view. 
There is a gay company moving in a crowd through 
brilliant rooms, chatting, and glancing sometimes 
at the walls. But the evening walls of the Acad- 
emy are dim. The pictures do not show well, and 
nobody asks that they should. The evening is 
merely a procession through the rooms, like a march 
around the table before dinner. You look at the 
tempting dishes and snuff the savory odors, but you 
do not propose to taste until you are quietly seated ; 
and it is not on the evening of a private view that 
you are quietly seated. 

The next day, perhaps, or some bewitching April 
morning — so perfect a swallow that 3'ou must needs 
believe in summer — you ascend those sparkling 
steps, pass the handsome portal, and taking out 
your critical pencil, yon buy a catalogue. If some- 
body nudges a friend, and whispers to him as he 
points furtively at you, "There's a critic," you can 
hardly resist the temptation of stopping at the head 
of the grand staircase, and saying audibly to the 
spectators: "Heaven forbid, gentle Sirs and Mes- 
dames ! It is only an observer who likes to look at 
pictures, and who loves several painters. He has 
come to look at the exhibition and say what he 
thinks of it. His opinion is as valuable as that of 
the next man or woman; and if he expresses it 
aloud in print, do the types make it any the truer ? 
The types merely lift his voice so that his friends in 
California, in Maine, in Iowa, and in Texas can 
hear what he has to say, and learn at least the 
names of the painters who have maintained or who 
have begun to make their fame." 

Having closed your few remarks you proceed to 
express your impressions of the pictures in the fol- 
lowing manner — the grave, sententious, methodical 
manner of those admirable but terrible persons who 
are really critics. 

The Forty-first Exhibition of the National Acad- 
emy of Design is now open. It is not superior to 
some late previous exhibitions, but' there seem to 
us to be fewer very poor pictures. The full-length 
portrait is absent this year, which is a pleasant va- 
riety ; and the old distribution of the pictures into 
portraits and landscapes is fairly abolished by the 
increasing number of interesting genre subjects and 
of special scenes. 

Mr. Heade's "Brazilian Humming- Birds" are 
very interesting from the novelty of the subject and 
the delicate fidelity of the treatment ; and " Bural 
Felicity," by Howard Hill, is a careful and con- 
scientious picture of a familiar scene. In the same 
outer gallery hangs a bold charcoal drawing, evi- 
dently a portrait, by Wm. M. Hunt, who in the 
large room has another portrait. They are both 
free and vigorous, and show Mr. Hunt's admiration 
of the French school in which he was trained. An 
absolute contrast to this school in the spirit and 
philosophy of art is found in the pencil drawing of a 
Cat by Miss M. J. M 'Donald, and "Strawberry 
Leaves" by R. J. Pattison, who also exhibits an 
" Oriole" and a " Tortoise." These last are strict- 
ly of the Pre-Raphaelite style ; but better than ei- 
ther is "Young Mullen" by the same artist. Mul- 

len could hardly be more accurately represented. 
But the stones in the "Oriole" are not readily rec- 
ognized as such. Miss M 'Donald's drawing is pain- 
fully elaborate and true. It is a pity that the skill 
had not been devoted to a more interesting subject; 
but much may be anticipated of so patient a talent 
and so faithful an eye. 

In the "Interior of St. Marks" Mr. David D. 
Neal attracts the eye by a most careful study of 
the old church, skillfully executed. Near by Mr. 
Elliott's bold and broad touch assures us that he 
means still to dispute the palm of the master of por- 
traits, while Mr. Eastman Johnson hangs a tender 
little song upon the walls in "Comfort in Weari- 
ness." It is a young mother in a poor room bent 
across the cradle of her infant. Every detail is af- 
fectionately painted, and with that exquisite free- 
dom from exaggeration which shows calm and con- 
scious power. The exact contrast of this impression 
is produced b}' Mr. E. Benson's "Cloud Towers," 
which must be called a strictly sensational picture. 
Mr. Johnson's two other works in the exhibition, 
"Sunday Morning" and "Fiddling his Way," are 
equally delightful. The latter, of course, from the 
similarity of the subject, recalls Wilkie's Blind Fid- 
dler,, but Mr. Johnson's is as purely American as 
Wilkie's is Scotch. The eye and heart would never 
tire of either. The exquisite skill with which the 
various aspects of childish pleasure are appreciated 
and represented in " Fiddling his Way" is sustained 
in " Sunday Morning" by a kindred insight. The 
youth leaning back in his chair and twirling the 
ring upon his finger, the sweet, sober maiden at his 
side, the utter jollity of the tw r o frolicsome but quiet 
children behind their mother, the old people and 
the younger, and the very Sunday in the air, which 
broods over the picture, are all charming and sim- 
ple and obvious, but to show them as they are, that 
is to paint pictures. 

In " The Gun Foundry," by J. F. Weir, we have 
a striking picture by a son whose promise illumin- 
ates his father's fame. In the exhibitions of tAventy 
years ago the father's pictures Avere ahvays notable, 
and it is now clear that in future exhibitions the 
son's are to be so. Mr. Weir has chosen for his 
subject the interior of the Cold Spring Foundry at 
the moment of casting a huge Parrott gun. In the 
fore-ground the stahvart Avorkmen are superintend- 
ing the pouring of the molten metal into the mould. 
The glare is fierce, the sparks fly upAvard into the 
vast dusky heights of the building, while far away 
in the distance other workmen at other furnaces are 
revealed like Cyclops at their toil. As in witness- 
ing the scene itself, so in looking at the picture the 
music of Schiller's Song of the Bell begins to roll 
through your mind. The subject is treated Avith 
the closest fidelity. It is a transcript of the actual 
grim and glowing event, and not adorned, as in 
Turner's daring picture of the casting of Welling- 
ton's statue, by any purely fanciful accessories. 

Near by hangs Mr. Winslow Homer's "Brush 
Harrow." The tone of this picture is very Ioav — 
too low, it seems to us — but the healthful reality 
of all Mr. Homer's works is delightful. Indeed 
his other contribution, "Prisoners from the Front," 
is to many the most thoroughly pleasing picture in 
the Exhibition. It is not large, but it is full of 
character and interest. A group of rebel prisoners 
confront a young Union General, Avho questions 



them. The central figure of the group i> a 
South Carolinian of gentk breeding and pneefU 
aspect whose fair hair nW> backward in a heavy 
sweep, and who stands, in his ruMy -ray nr..: 
erect and defiant, without insolence, a truly chiv- 

alric and manly figure. Next him, on the right 
is an old man, and beyond him the very antipodal 
figure of the youth in front— a * 4 corn-cracker — 
rough, uncouth, shambling, the typo of tlm>« who 
have been true victims of the war and «-f the slavery 
that led to k. At the left of the young Carolinian 
is a I'nion soldier— one of the Yankee*, wh-.-e t ... 
shows why the Yankees won, it is so cool and clear 
end steady. Opposite this group stands the officer 
with sheathed sword. Hi* eomposod, lithe, and 
alert figure, and a certain grave and iheerfcl con- 
fidence of face, with an air of reserved and tranquil 
power, are contrasted with the MDdMd cagemeee 
of the foremost prisoner. The men an- Uth \ «"in^ . 
they hoth understand each other. They m.iv 
easily taken as types, and, « ithout effort, final \ i< - 
t. l v i> read in the aspect of the blue-coated eoldJer. 
It will not diminish the interest of the picture if 
the spectator should sec in the young Union officer 
General Barlow. 

Mr. 8. EL GifTord's rich yellow ■ October A fUr. 
noon" is mellow and broad. The warm, gorgeous 
light hangs over the l»oun !le*s wood* pierced by 
the gleaming stream ; but there in «n air of " r< m- 
po>ition" in t!ic picture which harms it, although it 
lias all th«' char n \- ri'tic excellences of the artist s 
manipulation. The collection of Mr. Suyuam • pic- 
tures tenderly recalls that moileat man, that sincere 
ami devoted .ir i t, v. !, ;*>llcft* memory will be 
always faithfully cherished by his cumpanWos of 
the Academy. The pictures are among his best in 
that social line of tranquil coast tccnery of which 
he was so fond. 

In a certain tenderness and tranquillity of feel- 
ing Mr. Suydam's pictures always suggest those of 
his friend Kenactt, of slum he was so food, and 
who exhibits a " ljike George," full of his peculiar 
merit*. There is an exquisiteneaa of sentiment In 
the forms of this picture which is the truest mark 
of Kensett's hand, and which none of hit friends 
surpa-s; and with it is that sincerity whid 
chief charm in every work i f art. Mr. Uihu Ven- 
der's " Monk in Tuscany" is, like his " Klcsole land- 
scape near riorence," full of a broad clear iL»\ light, 
lioth are bold and of a masterly firmness, and the 
monk is a work thoroughly characteristic of Italy, 
like a scrap of Hrow ning. N». to^», in Mr. i r.. 
" In the Bniboi of Venice," which is the beat work 
exhibited by him for some time; there la a local 
feeling as well as specific fidelity w hich arv truly 
charming. Mr. Cram!: ! .> ->» thoroughly • 
Venice that his V< netian pictures an- very .-ati- .i - 
tory. Mr. Church exhibits only one small picture 
— "A Glimpse of the Caribbean Sea from the Ja- 
maica Mountains;" but from some peculiar ' 
treatment the curve of the distant shore seen from 
above looks like a precipice in profile, and singu- 
larly confuses the eye. l»ut the tropical character 
of the Gulf scenery is unerringly r< \ r- • • m 1 I 
the obedient hand of the master who has so care- 
fully studied it. Mr. Ilenncssy's u In Memoriam" 
is a delicate, ghostly work, but the fancy is not 
agreeable, w hile his " Drifting*' is one of his most 
delightful works. A vouth stn-tch- d in the Ikjw 


fies th 
few fr: 

h i» in l.i> I e*t \. in. N> i* Mr Gris- 
"The ljwt of the Ice." A gray fog muf- 
headlands of the river, upon which float a 
roents of ice. Mr. (iris wold already stands 
among the first of tl»e landscapists. 

Hut what shall we do? We are only at the en- 
trance of the large room, where hang *p» rt raits bv 
Huutiiurton and Hicks and Stone and Elliott and 

West Itoom, with so 
tecture and young ! 
cloud more of worki 

onlr a visitor like 

i see*, not without 
brethren arv ven 

di archi- 
,** ai d a 
iher. ex- 


sa, who looks thank - 


what thev have done. 

Firrr-aix years 
ortreo. came t» 1 
I. was coapletin 
'rlllngtoo was dra 
apoleon was at th 
and at the drptl 
uartertv bad bee 
stft - Udy of 

le, a I « v of 

Vt-Uiig •tud*nt 
of Scotland, ai 

the stJ 

with in- 

by a shrewd observer when bU moment came to 

a Mr. < arlrte rose at ooee, shook htnwlf out of hU jfold- 
Ueed rectorial gown, left It on hi* chair, sod Mapped quiet- 
ly to the table, aod drawin* his Ull, boojr frame Into a po- 
•Uloo of ■•.ratght p rpaodlculartiy out pwadbl* to one man 
In five hundred at serenlT rears of a*e, he began to .peak 
quietly and distinctly, hut nerrou»lr. There was a »!lgiit 
fliuh on hb face, but he bore himself with eotnpoaure an«! 
diirnit y, and In the course of half an hour he was ubrlaae 
It beginning to feel at his esse, so Ur, at least, as to bar 
adequate command or»-r the current of bU th'xiRbt. lb 
ntvikfl on nuiie fre«-ie and eaallr hardlv eeer repeated i 

of a boat gazes at two maidens seated in the stern, 
and all of them drift upon a sluggish stream by a | finish up ■ t< pic fr <m which be had oeriated. He sr. 
twilight pasture, over which the watery moon is ( gix«d Ia n.i baring come with s written discourse. 



was usual, and l it would have been more comfortable for 
me just at present;' but he had tried it and could not 
satisfy himself, and 1 as the spoken word comes from the 
heart,' he had resolved to try that method. What he 
said in words will be learned otherwise than from me. I 
could not well describe it ; but I do not think I ever heard 
any address that I should be so unwilling to blot from my 
memory. Not that there was much in it that can not be 
found in his writing?, or inferred from them ; but the man- 
ner of the man was a key to the writings, and for natural- 
ness and quiet power I have never seen any thing to com- 
pare with it. He did not deal in rhetoric. He talked — it 
was continuous, strong, quiet talk — like a patriarch about 
to leave the world to the young lads who had chosen him 
and were just entering the world. His voice is a soft, 
downy voice— not a tone in it is of the shrill, fierce kind 
that one would expect it to be in reading the latter-day 
pamphlets. There was not a trace of effort or of affecta- 
tion, or even of extravagance. Shrewd common-sense 
there was in abundance. There was the involved disrupt- 
ed style also, but it looked so natural that reflection was 
needed to recognize in it that very style which purists 
find to be un-English and unintelligible. Over the angles 
of this disrupted style rolled not a few cascades of humor 
— quite as if by accident. He let them go, talking on in 
his soft, downy accents, without a smile; occasionally for 
an instant looking very serious, with his dark eyes beat- 
ing like pulses, but generally looking merely composed 
and kindly, and, so to speak, father-like. He concluded 
by reciting his own translation of a poem of Goethe: 

The future hides iu it good hap and sorrow. 

And this he did in a style of melancholy grandeur not to 
be described, but still less to be forgotten. It was then 
alone that the personality of the philosopher and poet were 
revealed continuously in his manner of utterance. The 
features of his face are familiar to all from his portraits. 
But I do not think any portrait, unless, perhaps, Wool- 
ner's medallion, gives full expression to the resolution that 
is visible in his face. Besides, they all make him look sad- 
der and older than he appears. Although he be three- 
score and ten his hair is still abundant and tolerably 
black, and there is considerable color in his cheek. Not a 
man of his age on that platform to-day looked so young; 
and he had done more work than any ten on it." 

We can not feel with the acute analyst of Car- 
lyle in the April North American that he has be- 
come mechanical or factitious. It is the same face 
we knew, but grown haggard instead of hopeful, 
gloomy instead of glowing. The inextricable snarl 
of things at which his youth protested with a fire 
that foreshowed the power to consume has con- 
quered him, and he lies prostrate, but it is the 
sinewy form of a true warrior that we see. 

It is true that he seems to acknowledge no oower 
now but brute force; but it is that force inspired 
with a sincere and even religious purpose of doing 
the best that the wretched circumstances allow. 
The enormity that one human will should assert it- 
self remorselessly by shot and shell, that a worm 
should ape divinity and prove its Godhead by sting- 
ing, does not appall him. His rage with weakness, 
with error, with stupidity, is so overpowering that 
he becomes vindictive; and even innocence, if weak, 
becomes to him despicable, not because he hates in- 
nocence, but because weakness is the source of 
such infinite perplexity. On the other hand, it is 
' not the brutishness of the force, it is its energy, its 
organizing and executive quality, its yea for yea, 
and nay for nay, its positive determination, with- 
out which, somewhere, the whole scheme of things 
drifts to destruction, which commands his fierce ap- 
plause. The world has become to him a gladiatori- 
al arena — it is a vast humming Coliseum, and when 
the vanquished falls Carlyle turns his terrible thumb 
and shrieks for the death-blow. Yet he would as 
willingly see the victor vanquished. It is the pow- 

er he applauds. If the stricken fighter rests upon 
his hand, 

"And sees his young barbarians all at play," 

this heart, indignant at the human folly that makes 
the scene possible, is steeled, and by tragical in- 
version of feeling, sneers at the deepest, divinest 
emotion of the spectacle as sentimentality. So at 
last the genius that vindicated Burns has come to 
shout hosannas to Frederick the Great. The hand 
that describes with painful detail the conquest of 
Saxony and the causeless campaigns in Silesia, pro- 
trudes from the dust bins in which it is fumbling 
to snap its fingers at the civil war in America as 
the burning of a foul chimney. There is no more 
pitiful tale in literature than that of Thomas Car- 
lyle ; and so deep is the sense of his sincerity that 
indignation is lost in sadness. 

His Edinburgh discourse was spoken without 
notes, and occupied an hour and a half. He incul- 
cated diligence, honesty, fidelity, obedience, hu- 
mility, and, before all and over all, silence. " Si- 
lence is the eternal duty of a man." Oratory, in 
his judgment, is Beelzebub's most efficient organ at 
the present time. England and America are two 
great countries, but they are gone mostly away to 
wind and tongue. Health, too, that is half the 
game. You must keep your health if you would do 
any thing. But if you propose to do any thing you 
must not expect to keep your health. There are a 
few great books which every man should read, and 
Carlyle said nobly that the end of stud}' is not 
knowledge but wisdom. 

As for government, Thomas Carlyle's doctrine is 
Louis Napoleon's Caesarism. There is something 
exquisitely absurd in his sitting at the feet of the 
hero of Strasbourg and Boulogne. The man who by 
hook or by crook can succeed in making himself 
Dictator, he is the man for your homage. His il- 
lustration, however, is not Julius Caesar or Napo- 
leon, but Oliver Cromwell. And then, he quotes 
Machiavelli against Democracy. He does not ask 
his hearers to agree with the Italian, but it was 
nevertheless Machiavelli's opinion that the mass of 
men can not govern themselves. Undoubtedly; 
and it was also the opinion of Lord Eldon, and Lord 
Sidmouth, and Lord Londonderry, and Lord Nor- 
manby — of George III. also, and Dr. Johnson — of 
King Bomba, and Count Bismarck. Cavour, we 
imagine, was quite as wise as Machiavelli. What 
did Cavour think of Caesarism ? 

No preacher of the church of Caesar ever attempts 
to answer the one vital question — how is he to be 
found without deranging the whole order of soci- 
ety? Select any Caesar you please, Julius or Na- 
poleon, or Frederick, or Cromwell, the best of 
them, or the present French representative of that 
role; they all come to the purple through crimson. 
The state is torn by a sharp civil war, and a certain 
executive energy and military genius and indomita- 
ble purpose enable Caesar to emerge and constrain 
anarchy as he chooses. But these divine gifts of 
the dictator are individual. They can not be trans- 
mitted. They can not be known even until occa- 
sion proves them. When the individual dies, there- 
fore, since masses of men can not govern them- 
selves, they must relapse into anarchy until the 
heaven-appointed successor rises to the surface. 
But is it, after all, the perfection of wisdom to fire 
your house whenever a fire-engine gives out for 
the mere purpose of discovering which of the re- 
mainder has the longest squirt? If the Court may 



if om 

be supposed to know some law, the world, if not 
very wise, may be supped to have learned some- 
thing. The 4uesti.u1 is not wh.-th'-r a p -1 p ^ 
ernor is a good governor, b»t w l.eth. r » .< «ar:-!.i ! 
any where established pennancnt a;. 1 j 
peace and justice. It is no answer to say that pop- 
ular governments do not c-caj*- war .m l trouble. 
That the new shoes pinch does not prove that the 
old shoe* did not leak. 

Mr. Carlyle in this address is, as usual, the lau- 
reate of silence ; indeed he talked for an hour and a 
hall' mainly to incubate rfkOM as the cardinal wr- 
tue. He was grimly witty aliout it, and it muat 
have been delightful to hear the scornful thunder* 
of his Scottish bn>gue against talking, 
a dismal chapt. r all h < xclaimc 
went into it— what has been done by rushing into 

fine speech There is very great necessity, in- 

deeil. of getting a little more silent than »f orr. 
It seems to me the finest tuitions in the world, the 
English and the American, arc coing all away into 
wind and tongue. Hut it will appear sufficiently 
tragical by-and-by, long afh r I am away out of it. 
Silence is the eternal duty nf a man. ... If a gt*»d 
speaker— an eloquent speaker— i« not »j«-aking the 
truth, is there a more horrid kind of object in erea- 

tion ? An excellent Quaker of that kind ia, as It 

were, saying, 1 lbs even- one that want* to I* |«cr- 
suaded of the thing that i» not true, ct<n« hither!' 
I would recommend you to bo very chary of that 
kind of cxcclh nt s|«i« h." 

'I'liif* must have U'cn rxtrvmely entertaining to 
hear, but who i* the orator? He i» a man wh«> !• r 
noarlv forty year* ha* l**cn an incraaant talker. 
He has talked often wiaely, powertwlly. sometime* 
scornfully and sadly ; and that he might be hoard 
the further he has talked with hi« pen rather than 
his tongue. For what it speech? I* it not ad 
dressing human bring* in word*; and i* a word lea* 

as Carl vie, w ho has talked so much and so 1 ffective- 

Iv, so vociferously talk a 
" Of the many wise an 
in the discourse we do n< 
have been faithtully read 
who do not allow any wtl 
to obscure the value of si 

•Jul 1 

for we bo|« they 
ered by all those 

mi as Carlt le'a. 

Mi:. ! 

ticcauM» it i» w rilten 
ho »t>!endid %o| limes 

forcible or foolish or j>er»ua 
instead of spoken ? What 1 
with which t'arlvle's genius has enriched Kngluh 
literature but his sj»oken opinion* upon the subject* 
that interest him, and upon which he wishes to af- 
fect the minds of his countrymen and mankind? 
And what else are Mr «.l . Stouc • *|>cecbcs, or Mr. 
Bright'*, or I-ord Iaerby's? 

Hut there is another point to I* considered in the 
midst of this loud declamation in favur of silence. 
If England and America an- indeed the finr»t coun- 
tries in the world, they are so because of speech and 
not of silence. They are so because they invite 
every man. to say his say : to out w ith it, and nut 
re pre-* aii'l mi; -» •..:.;.! which can not 

alwavs W more and more restrained explode the 
whole system of things into chaos. Asia is your 
silent country. Africa is the mother of silence. 
How does civilization like tlx :n ? Count Bismarck 
means to make l'ru-M.i sib nt 1!' he can. ( V Lint I 
marck is merely sitting on the safety-valve, am 
he perseveres lu- or lii* mi< . • -><>r will suddenly 
living >kyward in several pi- c»-». In this country, 
too. \\o bad a syMVin ii:i; ! m'.« :. >; • • :. 
was a* fatal to it as a spark to gutij>owder. But 
speech touched it, and has blown it to destruction 
with a report distinctly audible to the Hector and 
faculty of the University of Edinburgh. 

The truth is that speech is the salvation of civil- 
ization : and in every country we say better fuolUh 
speech than none at all, for the liberty of speech 
and nothing else secures the peaceful progress of 
society. Why, then, should so tremendous a talker 

Ickexs evidently seems so persu* 
ns are hoatile to him, am! be has 
for so long a lime cherished a fe 
which is not exactly friendly, that 
ly to cross the sea again to visit 1 
the war has antiquated and mad* 



pad a* he 
• Mirce** 

a ft 

Ium> and the profit 
letter fro«n IjuixV* 
pram! after a run* 
form. Tha writer 

(.rVMfit ID g: 

f I The Easy Chair lias of- en mentioned the Century 
I Club, the Club that especially and fondly preserves 
r, I the traditions of literature and art, counting among 
h its mem l»crs most of the conspicuous arti*t* and 

such recently occurred on the birthday of Shak« 
peare, the three hundred and second anniveraar 
when a dinner was eaten in memory of the poet. 

The table was laid in the great room of the < lu 
a noble banqueting-hall, and forty or fifty gu« 



sat down. Lang, the genial, the joyous, the nim- 
ble-fingered, had boldly sketched a transparency 
representing the man of men sitting among the 
chief contemporary actors of his plays. In front of 
it sat the President of the Century, Mr. Bancroft, 
with Mr. Bryant at his right. At one end of the 
long table sat the biographer and commentator, the 
head of the illustrious class of Shakespeare's schol- 
ars, Richard Grant White, and at the other end a 
faithful student and lover of the Swan, Judge Daly. 
Around them and along the tables were ranged rep- 
resentatives of every pursuit, a merry, sympathetic 
company. The delicate bill of fare was adorned 
with lines and phrases from Shakespeare felicitous- 
ly selected by Mr. White, and excluding all that 
had ever done duty at any similar feast of the Cen- 
tury ; and all were cheerfully chatty and happy ex- 
cept the doomed few whose abstracted eyes sweep- 
ing the ceiling and moody faces purged of pleasure, 
plainly revealed that they were to offer a few un- 
premeditated remarks when the fatal hour of dessert 
should strike. 

It struck. The table rang and jarred with ap- 
plause as the President arose, and in words pardon- 
ably proud and congratulatory recited the extraor- 
dinary claims of Shakespeare to the homage and 
love of mankind, in response to the first toast, which 
was simply the poet's name. "The commentators" 
followed, and in a vein of pleasant humor Judge 
Daly proved with magisterial dignity and profes- 
sional acuteness that the bard had distinctly men- 
tioned three of the commentators to be. It was ex- 
cellent jesting, and the company heartily applauded 
the ingenious fun. Then came "The Century," 
and Mr. Bryant, who had not known that he was to 
speak, replied in a few words, saying that the drama 
generally reached its perfect development in the 
earlier years of a nation, and flourished but for a 
short time, and then by easy approaches he alighted 
upon the kindred arts, related that a famous for- 
eigner had told him that landscape art was to 
have its finest development in America, and, sitting 
down, called upon Bierstadt and Kensett to finish 
his speech. Kensett politely yielded to Bierstadt. 
Bierstadt courteously waived his right in favor of 
President Huntington of the Academy, and he, in a 
few words, declared his belief that the famous for- 
eigner was right, and pleasantly deprecated any art- 
istic depression arising from undue severity of criti- 
cism as unjust in the artists to themselves and their 
mistress, Nature. To "The Drama" Dr. Lieber re- 
sponded with thought and learning; and the last 
regular toast "Woman" was also acknowledged, 
but how could it be adequately answered, for who 
of us " is equal to these things?" 

Rev. Dr. Francis Vinton, who had come in late 
from the feast of St. George, which is always held 
upon Shakespeare's night, was then summoned, and 
spoke like a father — of the church — to the birthday 
revelers. Then Mr. White disclosed the curious 
and interesting fact, that in all Shakespeare's poems, 
'whether plays or sonnets, there is no abstract praise 
of woman except in the passage from ' Love's Labor 
Lost," which was the motto of the toast: 
"From woman's eyes this doctrine we derive, 

They sparkle still the true Promethean fire; 

They are the hooks, the art, the academes, 

That show, contain, and nourish all the world." 

Lovers praise their mistresses in all the plays ; but 
the judgments of women other than that are the re- 
verse of flattery. Mr. White, as his life of the poet 
shows, is of opinion that Shakespeare's early ex- 
perience with Anne Hathaway and his blighted or 

unsatisfactory domestic life explain this phenome- 
non, although, of course, he feels with all the world 
that the creator of Virgilia and Cordelia revered 
the womanly nature as few men have. The law- 
yers have always a special interest in Shakespeare, 
and the President called Mr. William E. Curtis to 
speak for the Bar ; and after a few words from Mr. 
Bayard Taylor in response to the President's sum- 
mons, the last motto of the "Fruits and Pastry" 
upon the bill was verified — 

"You have now a hroken hanquet." 

While still wondering at what Mr. White, the 
most competent of authorities, said of the strain 
in which women are mentioned — not created — in 
Shakespeare, this little song comes fluttering as if 
to put into music that feeling of the weird craft of 
woman. But, after all, it is not a woman, it is only 
a siren : 


" Over the gohlet, filled to the brim, 
She sends a bewildering glance to him. 

"Over the sea of pink-foamiug wine 
lie reels in the light of her beauty divine. 

" Deeper and deeper she dreamily dips 
In the rose-tinted wine her rose-tinted lips; 

"While over the glas3 she airily laughs 
A pledge which he eagerly catches and quaffs; 

" And he drinks in a madness wilder than wine 
Through her smile, and her eyes bewildering shine. 

"He drinks in delirium, danger, and death, 
As over the goblet comes floating her breath ; 

4 4 As over the flagon of rose-colored bliss 
She wickedly, witchingly, wafts him a kiss. 

"Then laughing a laugh derisive and sweet, 
She is gone while he kneels in despair at her feet." 

The buds and blossoms of spring were backward 
this year. The northerly and easterly winds blew 
chill in the very face of the May queen, and the 
elms reluctantly unfolded their leaves. But al- 
ready the promise of the orchards is plain, and un- 
less the wise men are at fault we shall rejoice in a 
copious ruddy crop. 

If the cholera hangs, a menacing shadow over the 
opening summer, we must remember how much of 
its terrors knowledge has shorn away. The dumb, 
dull terror before a mysterious pestilence has given 
way to the science and skill which steal its venom 
as the rod draws the sting from the thunder-bolt. 
The signs of the danger and the means of preven- 
tion and of relief have been made so intelligible and 
accessible, that the coming of cholera can be viewed 
with equanimity and even cheerful defiance. 

Yet it will always be a shameful fact that when 
it arrived in the bay of New York we were really 
not ready for it. With a shiftlessness that is almost 
incredible there were no accommodations for the 
sick but an old hulk, the Falcon, which was not 
read}', and did not receive the patients until two 
nights after the arrival of the infected ship. Yet 
we had had a year's warning ! If a man managed 
his private business as public matters of this kind 
are managed, he would fail, and always deserve to 

Let us hope that the terrors of the summer may 
not be what many fear — and, as we survey the 
whole country, trust that the good sense which is 
the main-stay of human affairs may be as conspicu- 
ous in relieving us from national trouble as from 
the breath of the pestilence. 

3tfo!itl)!t) Jlftori) of tasni ftttnte. 

rMTi:ii status. 

OUR Record closes on the 2d of May. The roost 
important features of the month are the con- 
tinued want of harmony between the views .■: Cu- 
gtegt and of the President, as evinced in the pSS- 
gage of the Civil Rights bill notwithstanding lus 
veTo; various financial measures promised : tin- J t. - 
jeets for Reconstruction of the Union j the under- 
standing between France and the I'nited 
regard to the French occupation of Mexico ; and the 
critical state of affairs in Europe, criming out of the 
dispute between Prussia and Austria. 

Tin: ikace nOOLMJUBBMU 
On the 2d of April, the anniversary of the cap- 
ture of Richmond, the President issued a lYoclams- 
tion declaring the civil war nl an m l. Hi I 
lamation recites the princi|»al Executive MM legis- 
lative acts recognizing the existi nee of the war: 
'(1.) President Lincoln's Proclamation of April P.». 
1861, declaring that in aeren States "the lav. 
the I'nited States were opposed, and the execution 
thereof obstructed by combination* l"o j-.w. rful to 
be opposed by the ordinary course of judicial pro- 
ceedings, or bv the powers vested in the Marshal* 
by law." (2.) The Proclamation of August Irt, l»C\, 
declaring the inhabitants of eleven State* "to be in 
a state of insurrection against the l nited States. 
(3.) The Proclamation of July 1, 1HC2, declaring 
that, with certain exceptions "the insurrection still 
existed in the States aforesaid." (4.) The Procla- 
mation of April 2, 1WJ3, r g ating in effect this last 
Proclamation. (5.) The so-called " Crittenden and 
•lohnson reaolution," passed by the House July ?2, 
and by the Senate July 25, 1861, that the war has 
DOM forced upon the country by di»unioni*t« in the 
Southern States now in revolt, and that "this war 
is not prosecuted on our part in any 
■Itll, nor for any purjiose of concur* 
nor for the purpose of overthrow in 
frith the rights or established in»t 
States, but to defend and maintait 
of the Constitution, and all the lai 
suance thereof, and to preserve the Cnion ' 
the dignity, equality, and rights of t he seven 
unimpaired; and that as soon as these obj 
accomplished the war ought to cease.*' TV, 
lution, the President consi '. r-. "may lie r 
as having expressed the sense of Congress t 
subject to which it relates." The Pruclamat 
declares : 

of, or separate ll*elf fr^m, or l«e n-\w.iU 1 f:t>tu t!i«' Am •- 
lean I'uiou, and that, tlRrvforv, « n !i m :.»t. <> i.d.t to ro- 
maln and cou»tilule an Integral part of the Culled State*; 


•'irArrrrts, The p**ple of the several before- mrnlloncd 
States hare. In tho manner aforesaid, gi\on salbfartory 
§1 Idmee tttat they ar»juh-*oa In this sovereign and lm- 
j- riant resolution of tho national unl'y; and 

"H'Armu, It Is believed to be a fundamental ptlnrtpte 
of government that people who bars rv vol led, and who 
hare been orcmiao and »-,itdued, must either be denlt 

• .rvattaled so a* to prevent tnem ir\«u ivrr again Ootng 

harm as cix-tnlo*, which but -named pulley it abhorrent to 
humanity and freedom : anil 

"ITsrmM, The V »n*tltutl< n of (he Called Btalea pro- 
vide* for roo*tl:u< bt ronimnnkile* only as State*, -nd uol 
a* Territorial, Depend* ncie», Province*, or I rorcSurale* ; 

"ITaerert*, Pneh constituent Hate* mat neeea-arily be, 
sod by the <toa*lttatloa and lav* of ilia Cubed Mate* 
•re, made e*|ual«, and placed «>n a like f»slna; • • to 
litleal rt*hu, Imtnunllle*, dl^ntlv. and power with lie 
MTeral (feu . vb.h *hkh they ar* united: and 

»:i»sUb(» ; and 

"IrJUrma, htandlne annlr*. mllllaiy orrnpatl >n, mar- 
tial la*, military tribunal*, and U»e •urpetubwi rtl the priv- 
ilege «f the vril of ha bra* corpus arr. In time of peace, 
da' ceroau to publk llbrrly. I nrvm pallida with Ihe Indl- 
vWlual rl^M. -< th- OMOMOj e»ot»ary to I he p-a n* ami 
•flrit of o«tr »>•«- Inaittuti .0., and rihatutlrr of the na- 

i» war I tlarnt, |*«UUna, Arkansas, M|mI»«i| pi. and 1 1 »rlda, U 

",f t \ '. I It will l»e noted that In this PrtM lamation no 
fit™ I mention la made of Texas; for the reason that 
late had not at the lime adopted a Constitution 
iil-altituMhe conditions wandered essential for its 

I supremacy 

iade in par 

ishes ilavery, and provides tliat 

■ Afrlei 
their rWk 

M H'/ifivMs, ny my Tn« 
Inst the Inatureoli d la 

clared to have ~»ii>i 
ed States therein to be tit 
oflicers as hud lieen duly 
pitted exercise of their ol 
ik HViTtxis, There now 

p 13th day of June 
rennewK-e' «aa dc- 
horiiy of the l oit- 
8-irh t niu-d 8*at«-» 
to be in the undu- 
: and 

.i/. .i inaal iwafsa- 

nnee of misguided citiz* ns or others to the authority of 
the United State-, in the States of (Jvijr^ia, South I -\r ■ 
Una, Virginia, North Carolina, Tenne«t»et\ Alaliama, Luu- 
i-iaua, Arkansas, Mississippi, and Florida, and laws can 
be sustained and enforced therein by the pr«>p<T ri% il au- 
thority. State or Federal, and the pi- 'pie ..f the »aid Slates 
are well and loyally disposed, and have conformed or will 
conform in their legislation to the condition of affairs rtow- 
ingout of the amendment to the Constitution of the I'nited 
States prohibiting Slavery within the limits and juri«dic- 
tion of the United States; and 

u Whereat, In view of the before-recited premi-< - it i- 
the manifest determination of the American people that 
no State cf its own will has the right or power to go ont 

them »hall b»* exidorted 
Horn for like "rtrn— « ai 
aliall be tubject to like p 

•li tin; 




I V--V-.f <T TIIK (IMt. ItH.IITi i;it.l.. 

The < i % LI Pigbts Pill, which was vetoed I 
President, has passed both Houses of Congr 
more than the requisite majority of tw o-tbinl 
has conscquenllv Income a law. In the BtMlOj 
April 4. Mr. TrumlaiU, of Ohio, sjsjkc in favor of 
the pas«ageof the Pill. He reviewed nt length the 
President's objections. He argued that by the ( on- 
stitution. and by the general policy of the Govern- 
ment, all persons born within the I'nited Stales, 
"~(*pted, were citizens of the Cnibd 
reforc of necessity of tho several 

slaves only 
States, and 



States in which they resided ; but that the right of 
citizenship did not involve political rights, or rather 
privileges, such as the right of voting and holding 
office. The right to hold office under the Federal 
Government depends upon the Constitution of the 
United States, the right to vote and hold office in 
the States depends upon the legislatures of the sev- 
eral States. Thus a naturalized citizen could not 
be elected President, and must have resided a cer- 
tain number of years in the country in order to be 
eligible as a member of Congress. But citizenship 
did involve certain rights ; and this Bill was framed 
to secure the fundamental rights to all citizens in 
every State. Mr. Trumbull denied that the second 
section of the Bill did, as affirmed by the President, 
discriminate in favor of colored persons. The very 
object of the Bill was, he said, to do away with all 
discrimination. It was indeed designed for the 
benefit of the colored race, but this was simply be- 
cause in certain cases he was discriminated against 
by State laws. Remedial laws like this were de- 
signed for the relief of those who needed relief ; and 
when this was afforded they stood upon precisely the 
same footing with those who needed no relief. The 
President's objection that the Bill punished by fine 
and imprisonment those who made laws discrimin- 
ating against persons on account of race or color was 
pronounced futile, for it imposed punishment upon 
those only who subjected any person to different 
punishment on account of race or color. The of- 
fense was the subjecting a colored person to dis- 
criminating punishment. Now to constitute an of- 
fense there must be not only an act, but a vicious 
intent in performing the act; so that a judge or 
officer who should execute such a law would not 
of necessity be punished therefor. If he acted in- 
nocently he would not be liable; but if he acted 
viciously and corruptly he ought to be punished. 
To the President's objection, founded on the num- 
ber of officials required to execute the provisions 
of the Bill, Mr. Trumbull replied that it "was all 
copied from the statute known as the Fugitive 
Slave Law : machinery in itself always held to be 
constitutional and proper, and now used in the in- 
terest of freedom, as it originally was in the interest 
of slavery. As our soldiers employed the weapons 
we received from the rebels in putting down the re- 
bellion, so the weapons of the law were sanctified 
in uses of freedom." Other provisions, to which 
the President objected, such as that for employing 
the army and navy in executing the law, were de- 
clared to be taken verbally from former laws to 
which no objections had been made. Mr. Trum- 
bull went on to say that the Bill, which was drawn 
up by himself, was framed in accordance with what 
were supposed to be the President's views; that it 
was submitted to him substantially as it now 
stands ; that he was requested, if he 

u had any objections to any of its provisions, that he would 
make them known to the friends of the Bill, in order that 
they might be remedied, if not destructive of the measure ; 
for there was believed to be no disposition on the part of 
Congress, and certainly none on my [Mr. Trumbull's] part, 
to have bills presented to him which he did not approve. 
He never indicated to me, nor, as far as I know, to any of 
his friends, the least objection to any of the provisions of 
the Bill till after its passage. How could he, consistently 
with himself? The Bill was framed, as it was supposed, 
in entire harmony with his views, and certainly in har- 
mony with what he was then and has since been doing in 
protecting freedmen in their civil rights, all through the re- 
bellious States. It was strictly limited to the protection of 
the civil rights belonging to every freeman, the birth-right 
of every American citizen, and carefully avoided confer- 
ring or interfering with political rights or privileges of any 

kind. The Bill neither confers nor abridges the rights 
of any one, but simply declares that in civil rights there 
shall be an equality among all classes of citizens, and that 
all alike shall be subject to the same punishments in every 
State. All that is required is, that in this respect the law 
shall be impartial." 

Mr. Trumbull animadverted in severe terms upon 
the general course of the President, and especially 
of "the spirit of his veto message ; of the dangerous 
doctrines it promulgates ; of the inconsistencies and 
contradictions of its author ; of his encroachments 
\ upon the constitutional rights of Congress ; of his 
assumption of unwarranted powers, which, if perse- 
vered in and not checked by the people, must event- 
ually lead to a subversion of the Government and 
the destruction of liberty." He quoted from a speech 
of Mr. Johnson, then a Senator, upon the veto by 
President Buchanan of the Homestead Bill, in which 
he said, "The President of the United States pre- 
sumes — yes, Sir, I say presumes — to dictate to the 
American people and to the two Houses of Congress, 
in violation of the spirit if not of the letter of the 
Constitution, that this measure shall not become a 
law I hope the Senate and House of Representa- 
tives, who have sanctioned this Bill by more than a 
two-thirds majority, will, according to the Consti- 
tution, exercise their privilege and power, and let 
the Bill become a law of the land, according to the 
high behest of the American people." Mr. Trum- 
bull concluded his speech by saying : 

''This Bill in no manner interferes with the municipal 
regulations of any State which protects all alike in their 
rights of person and property. It could have no opera- 
tion in Massachusetts, New York, Illinois, or most of the 
States of the Union. How preposterous, then, to charge 
that unless some State can have and exercise the right to 
punish somebody or to deny to somebody a civil right on 
account of his color, that its rights as a State will be de- 
stroyed ! It is manifest that unless this Bill can be passed 
nothing can be done to protect the freedmen in their lib- 
erty and their rights. "Whatever may have been the 
opinion of the President at one time as to good faith re- 
quiring the security of the freedmen in their liberty and 
their property, it is now manifest, from the character of 
the objections to this Bill, that he will approve of no 
measure that will accomplish the object. That the sec- 
ond clause of the Constitutional Amendment gives this 
power there can be no question. Some have concluded 
that it gives even the power to confer the right of suf- 
frage. I have not thought so, because I have never 
thought suffrage any more necessary to the liberty of a 
freeman than of a non-voting white, whether male or fe- 
male. But his liberty under the Constitution he is en- 
titled to, and whatever is necessary to secure it to him lie 
is entitled to have, be it the ballot or the bayonet. If the 
Bill now before us, and which goes no farther than to se- 
cure civil rights to the freedmen, can not be passed, then 
the Constitutional Amendment declaring freedom to all 
the inhabitants of the land is a cheat and a delusion. 1 ' 

Mr. Johnson, of Maryland, on the 5th of April, 
replied to Mr. Trumbull. The greater part of his 
reply was devoted to an elaborate legal argument 
to prove that "citizenship of the United States, 
consequent not upon naturalization, but upon birth 
in a State, is to depend upon the fact whether the 
Constitution and laws of the State make the party 
so born a citizen of that State;" and consequently 
that the Bill, in declaring all persons born in the 
United States citizens thereof, is unconstitutional. 
And in respect to the special rights conferred by 
the Bill, "the same right in every State and Ter- 
ritory to make and enforce contracts, to sue, be 
parties, and give evidence, to inherit, purchase, sell, 
hold, and convey real and personal estate, and to 
the full and equal benefit of all laws and proceed- 
ings for the security of persons and property as is 
enjoyed by white persons," Mr. Johnson averred 
that, " If there be any thing that might be consid- 
ered as true in the Constitution and laws, it was 




that over every one of tin M rights, or, to speak 
correctly, over every one ol" the subject* to i 
these rights are MM to attach, the jurUdicli 
the States was exclusive. This Hill, in nn < ; : 
strikes at all the reserved rights of the States. 

The question "Shall the hill pas*, the I'rcsit 
objections notwithstanding?" *m taken ir 
Senate on the 6th of April, and wu decided i 
affirmative, by a vote of 33 to 15. All the Sen 
who voted in favor of the passage are Kepubli 
Of those who voted again rt it, Messrs. Cowan of 
1\ nn-vh ania, 1) li:-.: . : Wisconsin, I<aneof Kan- 
gas, Norton of Minnesota, and Van Winkle of Wait 
Virginia, arc Republicans; the others Deeaocrata. 
The seat heretofore held by Mr. Stockton of New 
Jersey had been declared vacant, and the vacancy 
had not been filb-d. Mr. Dixon, Republican. a bo, it 
was Mipjiosed would have voted to sustain the veto, 
was absent ; but his vote. would not hare anVeted 
the result ; there would still bare been tw»-third» 
in favor of the passage of the bill.— In the Hoote 
the vote was tak< n on the iHh, and the bill was 
parsed by a votr of 1 - to II ; U ing within * •;: /!< 
vote of a majority of three to one. All who rated 
yea are HcjHiblican* ; all who voted nay are lVase» 
crat*, with the exception of Meatra. tUdrtdge of 
WisionMn, I -it ham ami Whaler of Writ Virginia, 
M of Missouri, l»belpe of Man Ian.!. Itandall. 
Rouaeeau, Shanklin, and Smith, of' Km tacky, mA 
Raymond of New York. 

RKtmsaTitrcTinsr or tub t"xw*». 

Various Miggr*tiom looking to the r*vw»tr»r - 
tion of the I nk n have been pot forth buh la and 
out of Congress. Among the UtUr i» one br tiee- 
rral B. K. Hutlcr, which dceerree ataxae! mtatMi. 

el debt, nor any c 
cipaU<<l hlavea, shi 
State* or anv Mat 

On the »Hh of April the Juir 
construction presented a plan 
joint resolution proposing an 
C onstitution ; (1) A bill pror 
ration of the States latrlr in n 

poftk« of the f»to 

id br Use tailed 
. (1) The qaal*- 
lo the Mate* ; bwl 
r of ber male citi> 
se; and no per* n 

rml*f. 1M> 

Iks deprived 
(3.) lUprese 
tion, uot fast 

iall l»c according to papula* 
a sa sa diafraachsacd by Male 

uiatraiiciiLM*nient is removed it •hall be aorufdin.? 
to the whole |>opulation. (4.) An act of CoafMi 
shall U- |.i-<tl enabling any Stale to be 1 1 sties J 
to the Union when she shali adopt the abore 
stitutioual amendments and enforce them by 
lation ; but no person who has held civil or diplo- 
matic office in the Confederacy, who left the naval 
or military service of the I'nited States, or, being 
educated therein, took sen ice in the Coofederacr, 
or aided in the rebellion, shall be qualified as an 
elector, or be appointed to any office under the 
I'nited States or be Governor of anr State. (5.) 
l'xcept as a! * \ .• provided there shall be a complete 
amnesty and restoration of rights to all citizens of 
the States so restored. (6.) As soon as mar be 
after the passage of these measures, Congress, aA- 
er inviting the several States to ratifv them, idaall 
take a recess of three months, so that persona dulv 
elected according to these provision* mav be able 
to represent their respective States during the pres- 
ent session. 

in full 

.t JiAmi II* 

IV It r»»^»»*l, br \h* Voiu »aJ |{ at Rr^nwvU- 
m of Um lalw»i XtoUe c< Assarha la i ******* *~. m 

tW, l*MSU^ U bath lla^oe «Mx*rrto«. Thai ik« S 
I . t .e. wiVh t- pc v—' i- the l/fWUiBiw of taw >«t«rd 
Mm'** at %a esaeoiaMat to Ik* ( .«a»tltaUa) of Um l alud 
MoU«, «hWH. *br« r»i.M I r ihrw l ..nK. * mM4 l^jU- 
Ulur<r«. •hall be valid m* port v4 Ihe t eaetttaltoa, MMIJ i 
AffUt* — » Joe. I. N . Male «hall aiti «r ■■■ ■ ear 
law which •heU ehrUf* tho t m« .Wv«. «r feaHlw of 
rftieeaw at Um I olu«t htoi».. Hf ahell oajr Mai* Arprltr* 
•ej pre a *f la». Ubafty. <e pnftit ■SBfal ie» 

»4 Ue, mar d<c» » oay pass 

mi f«MU«4s«« / iw mm 

• tibia tkto fi 

^* <4I^ I > iSwif n fassjro Mabsi) e vatio« law vbol* 

a-i«a«« ■ |«r> r.» la m*i<\ ci t^lir.^ |»JUa* mmt 
i*ic«4 um «boaw*w la serr fbi« (be «lonl« w '■»-. ? i» 
be 4m»I !• oar yuelSno) <4 u« m«U rtllarao r> < |mb 
tlkoa teetar «>* » «** • of •«>, m U aajr way ■bsiepii. •*> 
<«H r .• («ru if»l^« to Um ««■«...«». or ^ab«c dnr, Um 
bwte ^ rvsewM«a*ib« la • .-b m*i< *a^U t« rm.m*w4 la 
Um ; »WWb Um ImI c .# mm b mik rUlaeaa 

•ball bM« w Um eb m aaaabar af saakt rUiavea aa« haw 
Bel tWealv aaa rear* af afb> 

aW I • la* SU aWf . <: V all up | aba 

7 » IWr«»l to Um late Utafrwttoa, c I aM 

•ImJI bo •trt«W«J ("a ibo r%bl to »v4* t e 
af fJssMi ojm] Sm obM%t«« tar hroobiaat *a4 

Uto tl^tl 

to aM of ibo 

. ■ : .« IM t 6 u.l nuto, ■ aaf I 
rlfli af it>» i ioi»'» Mrttsa or b 
>b»ll bavo a oooe to as 
UU «, Um orwiii ai i UUa mJV 

i ; : • 

p*x*%U f*t rae tUmt mm 
feto/foM to faetr .^n /V4m 

da» e*e*toto»l oUb I to, fa- 
to** omi »at t+Utj i Um t atoa bo r««l ««.! to fell Mi- 
imIm>u a la afl f> v.tu*A rto>U . tad w bat mm Um Qiaai tm 
br H«« roavaattoa. or t »■ s^raUSWaUaa to Um Up 
wUivw of Um M««t»l SaoSaa. ao aa asaaaaWaS to the 
l .AMjtaltoa af Um I aMo4 atatoo, aa utkb la Um follow 
tmg Wore*, to oil «xaetilaltoaal arUcIo to/* la* rtoJ>, 

a aart af Iba 0MH| 

bate raiiAoj tba 
•at la 

wk Stoto. •* kaaa 4olf «tou4 aa4 >| 
Ho* ba«la« Uaoa Um r» t »i/*4 ooUaof uA<c, U 

1 Aaiba U farther ra*rto»l. TKal ehra may Uto- 
N bS bMarroriiea •bail baea rallied Ibo ( lag sea. 

u'u'o'aaor ibo art ^^afJn^ SX, ^b laaf 
rvtaaia 4ao aa4 aaoaiJ la «acb Stole, aar to aoauavd 
aa4 aai4 br aatb Stole, aM Um aafiaaat Ito-rW om 
prjfMT aMaraaan fraaa eara •'tola, to br ftr«a to Iba rVa> 
marr of Um Traaoarr af the I'aiu*! Htouo, mmy bo 
» «e4 far a aarlaf ajai Tim lea year* fr*a oai 
Um {Ma«oc« cf LbUaat 

J M iaMas aajfji 

Cae OarnovM o,< fJU t'» 

Do It raartod, ate.. Thai aw srrwai .11011 br »l» r H. to 
any c4Ve nboer lb' (rveoniaMWS td Um I aiu-1 »toto* vbo 
w LaHoacd la aaj of Um Mlowiac eaa, aaawfyt 

1. Tb« ITeebSrot aad Vlw-lTWVnt «f Um rawfaSerato 
>uie« f Anvrka,tocailaa.aa4 Um brad«of< 

2 TVm aba la other caaatrU* arto4 aa afrau of the 

OlaJbacrate .«tote» of AmerW. oo ealtod. 

3. Hrada of I»rpana>rala of lha l alSai 
of the Army %xA Nary of Um Ui 



sons educated in the Military or Naval Academies of the [ 
United States, Judges of the Courts of the United States, 
and members of either House of the Thirty-sixth Congress 
of the Uuited States, who gave aid or comfort to the late 

4. Those who acted as officers of the Confederate States 
of America, so called, above the grade of colonel in the | 
army or master in the navy, or any one who, as Governor 
of either of the so-called Confederate States, gave aid and 
comfort to the late rebellion. 

5. Those who have treated officers or soldiers or sailors 
of the Army or Navy of the United States, captured dur- 
ing the Late war, otherwise than lawfully as prisoners of 


On the 25th of April the Committee on Ways 
and Means in the House reported a bill making 
important changes in the Internal Revenue Bill. 
Some of the most important changes recommended 
are as follows : Income-tax, five per cent, on the ex- 
cess over $1000 instead of $600. Cotton, in lieu 
of taxes on the manufactured article, 5 cents a pound 
to be paid by the producer or holder, with a draw- 
back upon goods manufactured and exported, equal 
to the whole amount of taxes paid. Distillers and 
brewers, $100 instead of $50. Apothecaries, inn- 
keepers, and the like, not to be taxed unless their 
annual sales exceed $1000 ; this does not apply 
to dealers in spirituous and malt liquors. Distilled 
petroleum, etc., 20 cents a gallon; oils distilled 
from coal, etc., and spirits of turpentine, 10 cents. 
Ground coffee, or any substitute therefor, 1 cent 
per pound. Sugar, 1^ to 2 J cents a pound. Salt, 
3 cents instead of 6 per hundred pounds. Wear- 
ing apparel, 5 per ocnt. Boots and shoes, 2 per 
cent. ; ready-made clothing, 1 per cent. ; but shoe- 
makers, tailors, and milliners whose work does not 
exceed $1000 a year not to be taxed, and articles 
of dress made for women by milliners and dress- 
makers not taxed. Cigars, 2, 4, and 10 dollars a 
thousand, according to price. Smoking tobacco, 10 
and 25 instead of 15 and 30 cents a pound. Bro- 
kers' sales 5 cents on the $100, except on sales of 
exchange, coin, which is 2 cents. Soap, -| cent a 
pound, except perfumed, which pays 3. Schedule 
A is stricken out, with the exception of billiard 
tables and carriages valued at more than $300 ; that 
is, watches, plate, pianos, etc., not taxed. Among 
other articles freed from tax are lucifer matches, 
cheap photographs, books, paper, starch, cheap soaps, 
and a very large list of manufactured articles upon 
the materials of which taxes have been paid. This 
bill, drawn up mainly in accordance with the sug- 
gestions of the Revenue Commission, noted in our 
last record, greatly simplifies the working of the 
Revenue system, and relieves from burden many 
branches of industry ; the deficiency caused by the 
reductions it is presumed will be made up by the 
tax on cotton. It will not, if passed, go into oper- 
ation until July 1 ; and so does not apply to the taxes 
for the last year, the payment of which is now due. 


A Bill having been reported to Congress for 
equalizing bounties of soldiers, giving in effect 8£ 
dollars a month to those who had not received 
bounties to that amount, the Secretary of the Treas- 
ury asked the opinion of Mr. Wells, the Chairman 
of the Revenue Commission, upon the question, 
stating that it would add probably $200,000,000 or 
$250,000,000 to the National debt. The reply was 
decidedly adverse to the measure. Mr. Wells said 
that the largest amount ever raised in Great Britain, 
except by loans, in one year, was $375,000,000, 
while we were raising at the rate of $540,000,000, 

mainly by taxation upon industry in its various 
forms. The present large receipts of revenue could 
not be relied upon for the future. They would 
probably be diminished during the next fiscal year, 
from various causes. " Under these circumstances," 
Mr. Wells says, "it would seem as if nothing but 
the salvation of the nation itself could warrant any 
immediate increase of the national liabilities or the 
people's taxes." 


In the Senate the vote was reconsidered by which 
the application of Colorado for admission to the 
Union was rejected, and on the 25th April the Bill 
was passed by a vote of 19 to 13; there were 17 
Senators who did not vote, having paired off or 
being absent. The vote was not a strictly party 
I one, several Republican Senators voting against the 
; admission, because by the Constitution the right of 
suffrage is limited to whites. The Bill, which has 
yet to be acted upon by the House, declares in the 
usual form that Colorado has adopted a State Con- 
stitution and formed a State Government, and is 
therefore now a State in the Union. 


Alexander II. Stephens has been examined be- 
fore the Reconstruction Committee in regard to the 
state of feeling in Georgia. He believed that an 
overwhelming majority of the people were anxious 
for the complete restoration of the Union ; they 
were satisfied with the experiment of secession, and 
would not again resort to force to carry out their 
abstract opinions. The present relations between 
the frcedmen and the whites were satisfactory ; the 
blacks were generally at work, and, on the whole, 
their conduct was much better than the most hope- 
ful anticipated. The amendment to the Constitu- 
tion prohibiting slavery was not submitted to the 
people, but nine-tenths of them would have voted 
for it if submitted. The general opinion in the 
State was averse to allowing negroes to vote. He 
did not think the State would ratify an amendment 
to the Constitution making this a condition of rep- 
resentation in Congress. He thought if Congress — 
the eleven seceding States not being represented — 
should make negro suffrage a condition of restora- 
tion, these States ought to decline to accept it. He 
has always believed in the reserved sovereignty of 
the States, and though he opposed secession it was 
as impolitic, not as wrong ; but when his State se- 
ceded, against his judgment and vote, he felt bound 
to follow her fortunes. He accepted office in the 
Confederate Government in the hope of perpetua- 
ting the principles of liberty established by the 
Constitution of the United States. His opinions 
on the abstract right of secession had undergone no 
change ; but he accepted the issue of the war and 
the result as a practical settlement of that question. 
"The sword," he said, "was appealed to to decide 
the question, and by the decision of the sword I am 
willing to abide." Governors Johnson of Georgia 
and Sharkey of Mississippi testified to the same 
general effect as to the conduct of the freedmen and 
the disposition of the white population ; and also as 
to their feelings in regard to negro suffrage. 

New Jersey has failed to choose a Senator in the 
place of Mr. Stockton, whose election was pro- 
nounced invalid. In the State Assembly there was 
a decided Republican majority ; in the Senate there 
'were 10 Democrats and 11 Republicans, besides Mr. 


Scovell, who was elected as a Republican ; but hi 
voted against the resolution for both Houses to go 
into joint ballot for the election of Senator unlcs 
the Convention would pledge itself to nominate one 
of several persons whom he named. This was re- 
fused, and the Legislature adjourned without mat- 
in- a' choice: and as the vacancy occurred during 
the session of the Legislature the Governor has no 
power to till it. 

The election of Governor in Connecticut was 
looked for with special interest, as furnishing an in- 
dication of the popidar feeling in 
controversy between the President and < . n r 
Mr. English, the Democratic e.mdid«K was favc 
by the President Mr. HswlfJ, bk R -publican 
poncnt, was elected by a majority of alwut < 
At the previous election the Ke| u ...«,- 
1 . ;i . I a n..i it;- . ■ • ' 

The steamer \'ir>,-i>,it from Liverj« 
than 1000 passeng' rs. in-.-: Iv cu.igr; 
land and Germany, arrived in Nov* 
Huh of April. The cholera broke oul 
37 persons died during the voyage, 
the .steamer I'mjlnnd arrived with 1 J 
The cholera had broken out on boa 
vo\ ...:< , .in I the vessel waa oblige 
Halifax, where I.'mi <lir 
died previously. The 
the sii k r« inn\ « d t>> \ 
made considerable progress oo be 
the whole number of death*, incl 
[KTished during tlic voyage*, am 
IMO. It has however, aa yet n 
the infected ships. 

the French force* i* deemed necessary t< 
ceedlng to be taken by Mexico, i *f BOW 
France is entitled to determine the a*| 
Mexican situation ouwhl lobe regarded t 
fire recoguUe and must continue lo 
onlr the ancient republic, an>l can In c 

a prw. 

■ the 

r. 1 

with more 
from Ire- 

the I nltc< 


•led >u Utc Aiuirican Contla. ut and 

Mr. Seward goe« on to say that the single quce- 

< >n 

; - • to disru* 
ft oh nt of a queati 
ncccaaarily bt p r « 
-mUhip which hat 

••el* were shin*. 

ml both v 

la \ und 

i nr. FiiKxrii i* ur.xu «». 

The discussions with the French Government in 
relation to the French occnpati.m of Mexico, which 
at one time threatened serious results, hat been 
I rought to a satisfactory conclusion. < »n the 
ot' February Mr. N«ward addrea«r»l to M. Mootbolon, ' 
the French Minister at Washington, an elaborate 
dispatch, s t a ' i !i tho wludv question and arguing 
in favor of the doctrine of non-intcrvmtion. M. 
Druyn de Limy a had alhrmed distinctly that 

* France fail to Mexico In exerrt*« the • t of war, 
which Ik exercised by the I'nited Hatea, k dnt la virtue 
of any purp-wonf iut< rvcntlon. cutwrrnlns ahwh rer» 

ognlesj. Mm mm iosfttiM a* the t mt*»i »uic*. I r»t»r« 

went there not t" bring about a monarchical pr«ctyiWm, 
hut to obtain reparation ami guarantor* «hkh »hr ought 
to claim ; ami being there »he now »u»taln* lb* t#«*r»ni. 
ineut which is founded on the o-u-enl of ibe people, be- 
cause she expects from th*t Gov«rnm«nt Ibe J at satisfac- 
tion of her wrong! a* well a* the s*«uritl«-s lndlspm»ahJe 
f. r the future. As'she doe* not se. k the »atl»faetl.*a of aa 
exclusive interest. n<>r the realization of any ambilletss 
schemes, so Av n«>w wishes to rvcall what remain* In M> i- 
ico of the annj corps which France has sent there at tbe 
moment when she will be nhle lo do ao with safety to the 
French citizens und with due reaped to her* If." 

Mr. Seward rojdi' s. in substance, that vfctttTwf 
were the original purposes of France, though they 
have not been abandoned formally, yet th-y have 
become subordinate to a political r< volution which 
would not have occurred if France had not for lv 
intervened, and which would not now be maintained 
by them if that armed intervention should cease. 
He goes on to say : 

11 The United States have not seen any satisfactory evi- 
dence that the people of Mexico have spoken and have 
culled into being or accepted the so-called empire which It 
instated lias been set up in their capital. They nr«- <>f 
opinion that such an acceptance could not have been free- 
ly procured, or lawfully taken, at any time, in the pres- 
ence of the Freuch army of invasion. Tho withdrawal of 

and in 
an lint i 

thus stated 

it*, nor i 
|rt£ur lo <seerll 

«*rt In ibrir In-half that no forrijfi 
I Interrma by fom to aeotrrt rr\* 
id r.taWi-fi tboac of an anUk-tiUtl 
• Call bark upon tbc principle that no 
fully lolrrr- ne In sorh trial* as ftt 
be irrotind of a dcwlre to eorrrct tho 
propUr there of U.elr Dalur I tltcli 
iblkaa frt«do«n. All tbe injaiira 
exhoo can bare msnmi'trd a, aln 
rfoo»»daaeeerep«inl»hment Inconan 
rly f. J lowed their ommtaalotl. Si 
»l t» came* each other's error*, SB 

U n 

If i 

ry to 

; *< % • fit 1 
State ha' 

rifiht to InsM that France shall not Improve 
i.. ik< - to raise up in Mexico an anti-repabl 
American (i vcrnment, or to maintain sue 

ment there. M 

aim to 

lion* in 
try an- 
te f«»rm 

■ with 
iLir re> 

s rontl. 

try Ilka 

r «»Ub- 
of their 

Ihm by 
• »n t >o 
<4i«, re- 

I lot. I 

l«n can 

■ fan* 

racier " 
irn HUto 


'irs, de- 
. to. .Ik 


rertain and 
ar a^ain<t 
W e have a 
be war 'he 
r.n or antl- 
a Govern- 



Mr. Seward says that it would not be proper for 
the United States to give direct and formal assur- 
ances, either by treaty or otherwise, that they will 
not violate their own principle of non-intervention. 
But he adds : 

(t With these explanations I proceed to say that, in the 
opinion of the President, France need not for a moment 
delay her promised withdrawal of military forces from 
Mexico, and her putting the principle of non-intervention 
into full and complete practice in regard to Mexico, through 
any apprehension that the United States will prove un- 
faithful to the principles and policy in that respect which, 
on their behalf, it has been my duty to maintain in this 
now very lengthened correspondence. The practice of 
this Government from its beginning is a guarantee to all 
nations of the respect of the American people for the free 
sovereignty of the people in every other State Look- 
ing simply toward the point to which our attention has 
been steadily confined— to the relief of the Mexican em- 
barrassments without disturbing our relations with France 
— we shall be gratified when the Emperor shall give to us, 
either through the channel of our esteemed correspondent 
or otherwise, definite information of the time when French 
military operations may be expected to cease." 

To this dispatch, of which we have given only a 
few of the leading points, M. Druyn de Lhuys re- 
plied, on the 5th of April, in a note to the French 
Minister at Washington. The following is the es- 
sential part of this reply : 

"We never hesitate to offer to our friends the explana- 
tions they ask from us, and we hasten to give to the Cab- 
inet at Washington all those which may enlighten it on 
the purpose we are pursuing in Mexico, and on the loyalty 
of our intentions. We have said to it at the same time 
that the certainty we should acquire of its resolution to 
observe in regard to that country, after our departure, a 
policy of non-intervention would hasten the moment when 
it would be possible for us, without compromising the in- 
terests which led us there, to withdraw our troops and put 
an end to an occupation the duration of which we are sin- 
cerely desirous to abridge. In his dispatch of the 12th of 
February last Mr. Seward calls to mind, on his part, that 
the Government of the United States has conformed, dur- 
ing the whole course of its history, to the rule of conduct 
which it received from Washington by practicing invaria- 
bly the principle of non-intervention, and observes that 
nothing justifies the apprehension that it should show it- 
self unfaithful in what may concern Mexico. We receive 
this assurance with entire confidence. We find therein a 
sufficient guarantee not any longer to delay the adoption 
of measures intended to prepare for the return of our army. 
The Emperor has decided that the French troops shall 
evacuate Mexico in three detachments, the first being in- 
tended to depart in the month of November, 18G6 ; the 
second in March, 1S(>7; and the third in the month of No- 
vember of the sama year. You will please to communi- 
cate this decision officially to the Secretary of State." 


In the mean while it was reported that the Em- 
peror of Austria was about to allow 4000 troops to 
be recruited in Austria for Maximilian and sent to 
Mexico. Mr. Motley, our Minister at Vienna, was, 
on the 19th of March, instructed to 

" Inquire concerning the facts ; and, if they justify the 
report, to bring to the knowledge of the Austrian Govern- 
ment seasonably that the United States can not regard 
with unconcern a proceeding which would seem to bring 
Austria into alliance with the invaders of Mexico to sub- 
vert the domestic government of the republic, and to build 
up foreign imperial institutions. It is hoped that Austria 

will give us frank explanations You can not, while 

practicing the courtesy and respect which are due to the 
Austrian Government, be either too earnest or too em- 
phatic in the protest you have been directed to make. In 
performing this duty you may be assisted by information 
of the actual state of the question concerning French in- 
tervention in Mexico at the present moment. With this 
view I give you, confidentially, a copy of my note ad- 
dressed to M. Montholon on the 12th day of February. 
After reading that paper you will be justified in saying 
that the American Government and people would not be 
likely to be pleased with seeing Austria, at this juncture, 
assume the character of a protector to a foreign military 
power, which, claiming the power of an empire, is at- 

tempted to be set up on the supposed subverted founda- 
tions of the Republic of Mexico." 

This report of a meditated Austrian intervention 
having been confirmed, Mr. Motley was directed, 
April 6 and 16, to represent to the Austrian Govern- 
ment that 

u In the event of hostilities being carried on hereafter 
in Mexico by Austrian subjects, under the command or 
with the sanction of the Government of Vienna, the United 
States will feel themselves at liberty to regard those hos- 
tilities as constituting a state of war by Austria against 
the republic of Mexico, and in regard to such war waged 
at this time and under existing circumstances the United 
States could not engage to remain as silent or neutral spec- 

"The time seems to have ai'rived when the atti- 
tude of this Government in relation to Mexican affairs 
should be once again frankly and distinctly made known 
to the Emperor of Austria and all other Powers whom it 
may directly concern. The United States, for reasons 
which seem to them to be just, and to have their founda- 
tions in the laws of nations, maintain that the domestic 
republican government with which they are on relations 
of friendly communication, is the only legitimate govern- 
ment existing in Mexico; that a war has for a period of 
several years been waged against that republic by the Gov- 
ernment of France, which was begun with a disclaimer 
of alL political or dynastic designs ; that that war has sub- 
sequently taken upon itself and now distinctly wears the 
character of a European intervention to overthrow that 
domestic republican government, and to erect in its stead 
a European imperial military despotism by military force. 
The United States, in view of the character of their own 
political institutions, their proximity and intimate rela- 
tions toward Mexico, and their just influence in the polit- 
ical affairs of the American continent, can not consent to 
the accomplishment of that purpose by the means described. 
The United States have, therefore, addressed themselves, 
as they think reasonably, to the Government of France, 
and have asked that its military forces engaged in that 
objectionable political invasion may desist from further in- 
tervention and be withdrawn from Mexico. 

" The last communication upon this subject, which was 
addressed by the United States to the Government of 
France, will enable you to satisfy the Government of 
Vienna that the United States must be no less opposed to 
military intervention for political objects hereafter in 
Mexico by the Government of Austria than they are op- 
posed to any further intervention of the same character 
in that country by France. You will therefore act at as 
early a day as may be convenient. Bi'ing the whole case 
in a becoming manner to the attention of the Imperial 
Royal Government. 

" You are authorized to state that the United States 
sincerely desire that Austria may find it just and expe- 
dient to come up on the same ground of non-intervention 
in Mexico which is maintained by the United States, and 
to which they have invited France. You will communi- 
cate to us the answer of the Austrian Government to this 
proposition. This Government could not but regard as a 
matter of serious concern the dispatch of any troops from 
Austria for Mexico, while the subject which you are thin 
directed to present to the Austrian Government remains 
under consideration." 


The present hostile attitude of Prussia and Aus- 
tria is but a repetition of the old quarrel w r hich in 
1850 threatened to involve these powers in war. 
There has for years existed among the German peo- 
ple a strong wish to establish a united Germany, 
which would then take rank as a great European 
Power, not inferior to either France or Russia. It 
happens that the only good sea-ports in Germany 
are in the Duchy of Holstein, and this in 1850 be- 
longed to Denmark, the King of which, as Duke of 
Holstein, was a member of the cumbrous German 
Confederation, the two leading members of which 
are Austria and Prussia. The minor German princes 
and Austria have always opposed the formation of 
a German nation. Prussia has at times favored it, 
when there seemed a probability of her being at the 
head of and virtually the nation to be formed ; and 
especially when it was likely that she might gain 
Holstein. as in 1850. At that time the Germans of 



Holstein wished to get free from Denmark. Aus- 
tria opposed and Prussia favored this. The ques- 
tion was finally settled by the Great Powers inter- 
fering, and guaranteeing Holstein to Denmark under 
certain conditions. At length, in l*o4, the liuchirs 
of Schleswig and Holstein, taking advantage of ft 
dispute in regard to the law of succession, broke 
away from Denmark. Austria and Prussia, each 
fancying that some advantage could be gained to 
themselves, took part in the war which ensued, and 
compelled Denmark to give up the Duchies The 
question then arose what should Ik? done with thrtn. 
Prussia wished to incorporate them with her own 
dominions ; Austria, while not ostensibly claiming 
them for herself, but rather insisting that th. \ 
should remain in a manner independent, was de- 
termined that Prussia should m t have them, as 
their possession by Prussia would make her the 
predominant jmwer in Germany. The dispute was 
for a while fought on diplomatic grounds, and with 
reference to the complicated laws of the Confedera- 
cy. Recently l>oth parties have shown a <b "posi- 
tion to have recourse to arms; each increasing its 
army, and raeh finding in the conduct of the other 
ground for demanding explanations end guarantee*. 
Prussia singly Is overweighted by the Austrian 
Empire; but if she can secure the support of the 
minor German Powers she will have the per ponder > 
anco over Austria. To secure this seems to l« the 
aim of Count Itismank, her able and unscrupftsMt 
Minister. On the '.'lib of March he addressed a 
circular to all the minor German Powers. Hr de- 
clared that Austria, without provocation, had In- 
creased her armaments to a threatening extent, and 
now Prussia, in self-dcfrnse, must seek n-w guaran- 
ty-. She prefers to s*-«k lhr«e in G'frnanv, at; I 
therefore desires to have a modification of the Fed- 
end Constitution. lie asks therefore how lax, la 
case of going to war with Austria, Prussia nay 
reckon upon the support of the minor German 
Powers. In this there seems to be a covert insio- J 
nation that if these Powers will not engage to son. 
port her, Prussia will seek alliances elsewhere; 
that ''elsewhere" being of ruun« the French Km- 
peror, who would of course claim certain cone*-*, 
sions of territory in order to " rectifv"' the bounda- 
ries of France, and give them what has long been 
claim o<l by France as their "natural extrusion." 
These "concessions" can only come from certain 
of these minor Powers, The late*t phase of the 
question, as it appears on pa|»er. is that ea* h Power 
demands that the other should Lake the initiative in 
disarming ; that the minor Powers beseech Austria 
and Prussia to avoid hostile measures; and that 
Prussia demands the assemblage of a German Par- 
liament, the members to be chosen by universal 
suffrage; to which Austria is willing to accede, on ' 
condition that all her provinces be represent id in- 
stead of only a part, as at present — Bohemia, Hun- 
gary, and Vcnetia. though portions of the Austrian 
Empire, not being included in the Gernii' < 
federation. If such a Parliament is convoked with- 
out this condition, Prussia will have the larger vote; ' 
with the condition, Austria will have the larg r . • 
The gist of the question, therefore, no matter in 
what shape it is phrased, is whether A Ml lit < ' 
to go to war in order to prevent Prussia from ac- 
quiring the supremacy in Germany. In th- event 
of a war it may be assumed that the Kin_' of It.dv 
would find or make a pretext for an effort to wrest 1 

the Italian province of Venetia from Austria, unless 
he were prevented from so doing by his virtual 
ma-t. r. the Ian] n r Napoleon. I'j < n that *,. v . 
< r L'n «. « n< w to !. in , : v t. t 1 .• <pu Nti-n 

of peace or war in Kuro|*. For Great Britain has 
lost the power and perhaps the inclination to inter- 
opean affairs; and Russia has 
u the German question. 

fere acti\ • ly in 
little direct iutet 

!'M» \ r < >» \ At IMKAIsn. 

« '!• f V .-. i! . sj^j.i-), Admiral Nun, jr, 

who with a considerable fleet hail Uvn bio* kading 
the Chilian ports, sml in his ultimatum to the Gov- 
ernment of Chili. The principal points were that 
t hdi should declare that she had no intention to in- 
sult Spain, and that the treaty h e A w —ii the two 
countries was not broken, but only annulled, by the 
declaration of war; he, as Knvoy Kxtrannlinary, 
would then dec bare that Spain did not desire to hu- 
miliate Chili, or to seize her territory. The vessels 
captured on both sides were to be given up. He 
w«*ild then proceed to treat with the Government 
of ( hill. Thes« terms were rejected, and the Ad- 
miral gave notice that he should bombard Valpa- 
raiso, The foreign Ministers, among whom was our 
Embassador, (ieneral Kilpatrick, remonstrated in 
vain. The Admiral gave notice that on the 81st 
he should open the bombardment, and requested 
that non-combatant* should Iw sent from the citv 
and the hospitals and other charitable Institutions 
should be denoted by flags. The city was entirely 
defenseless; but \ illslon, the cummander of the 
Chilian fleet, proposed a naval duel between his 
farce and that of Nunc*, the latter to leave out the 
iron-clad steamer MmMI This proposition was 
tire lined. 

The bombardment commenced aUmt 9 o'clock, 
the Spanish vessels passing slong the front of the 
citr and delivering fire at a rangr of a few hundred 


lisrdment la- 



th«- harbor, 



the aid 
to the 
in ex- 


ment opened there was some 
n Ministers to prevent it faf 

Great Britain and the I'nited States each having in 
the harbor a naval force nearly equal to that of 
Spain. It is said that the American Mi- , t< r was 
in favor of this, but that the Britidi Mi i-t- r de- 
clined to unite with him. A public meeting of 
Hriti-h subjects was held, ftt which resolutions were 
pfttted v vert lv censuring the llritidi Admiral, a: ! 
thanking tlie Ameri an Minister for "his earnest 
endeavors to prevent, by co-operation with the Hrit- 
i-h {• r< e». the bombardment of the city, and regret- 
ting that those endeavors had not been more suc- 


PORTE CRAYON— now a General, a real Gen- 
eral, a General in the Union Army — once on 
a time wrote a series of articles in this Magazine. 
Who that read them has forgotten them ? You 
remember the dark-complected coachman, who re- 
joiced in the name of " Mice." Those articles were 
aS readable as the Drawer ! So entertaining were 
they that there was hardly any need of a Drawer, 
or funny department, when Porte Crayon was along. 
Well, he is back again, and with this the first Num- 
ber of a new volume he begins to give his "Personal 
Recollections of the War." The Drawer gives him 
a welcome, and so will all the Drawer's readers. 

A correspondent writes to the Drawer com- 
plaining that things are published in it which he 
has read before in books or newspapers. He closes 
his communication by sending a piece of poetry 
which has already been printed in the papers of the 
day. Another writer wishes to be paid for his con- 
tributions to the Drawer, and sends us articles 
copied from the Drawer ! 

A correspondent in New Orleans writes to the 
Drawer : 

I got a shot a short time since that is really good 
enough for you. Stopping at the National House, 
in Norfolk, Virginia, I was much pleased with the 
excellent attention paid me by "Page," a little 
fellow no higher than a chair, and certainly not 
over ten years old, who, besides being about as 
black as ebon} r , is also one of the best dining-room 
servants I ever saw. One day at dinner I turned to 
him with the common inquiry, "Boy, where were 
yon raised?" " I'se not raised yet, Sar !" was the 
instant reply. 

A Western man says : We have a town-clerk 
here, a very bonibastic little chap, much given to 
big words. At the annual town meeting the other 
day he read the report of the supervisors for the 
" physical" year endingMarch 31, 18G6. After read- 
ing the report through, one in the crowd requested 
him to read the heading over again, which he did, 
making the same mistake as before. Whereupon 
the man moved that the word "physical" be strick- 
en out, and " fiscal" inserted. The motion was car- 
ried with a shout. 

The gallant soldier who sends this to the Drawer 
is now at Washington — on duty, of course : 

During the famous John Morgan raid through 
Ohio, Kentucky, and Indiana, my command, then 
serving in Western Virginia, was sent up the Ohio, 
as far as Buffington's Island, to intercept and pre- 
vent the escape of the " rough rider" and his lawless 
followers. We arrived at Pomeroy early in the 
morning, and found the inhabitants of that strag- 
gling little town in a state of the most intense ex- 
citement over the rumored approach of the enemy. 
At first we veterans did not credit the statements 
of citizen scouts, but a small detachment of soldiers, 
sent ashore to learn the situation and obtain reliable 
information, soon returned and reported John, with 
his whole command, to be rapidly approaching. 
The brigade immediately disembarked and hurried 

to the front, while I was directed by General H 

to collect the numerous squads and straggling bands 
Vol. XXXIII.— No. 193. — I 

of armed citizens, effect something of an organiza- 
tion, and follow after the command. I immediate- 
ly gave my orders to a score or more of volunteer 
aids, and in less than twenty minutes we had 500 
of Ohio's stalwart youths and gray-haired sires and 
grandsires, armed with squirrel-rifles, superannuated 
muskets, revolvers, pistols, sabres, swords, etc., and 
every mother's son of them ' ' spoiling for a fight." 
Not one of them had ever seen a soldier before,. and 
they had no more idea of discipline and drill than 
had a rebel private of the "rights" for which he was 
fighting. But this was no time for instruction in the 
mysteries of war ; so I formed them into two ranks, 
and telling them off into companies of 100 men 
each, selected the most intelligent for officers. 
Before "going out to battle" it was necessary to 
select a " Colonel ;" and riding along the entire line 
I espied at the head of the column a venerable- 
looking, gray-haired man, who looked fight in every 
glance of his twinkling blue eye, commissioned him 
Colonel "on the field," and proposed three cheers 
and a tiger in honor of his promotion, which were 
given with a will. All was now in readiness, and 
giving the Colonel direction to move out "double- 
quick" and follow me, I rode to the head of the col- 
umn. I noticed a little hesitation on the part of 
that worthy and high official, but it was only mo- 
mentary ; he moved rapidly to the front and centre, 
halted, faced about, and gave the following com- 
mand, in the dialect peculiar to Southern Ohio : 

"Look wild thar! tote yer guns; prepare to 
thicken and march endways! Go-a-flukin — git!" 

And amidst such a yell as was never before heard 
in those "diggins" the gallant Colonel dashed off 
in search of the graybacks, followed by his impa- 
tient command. 

It is needless to add that these rustic soldiers 
contributed not a little toward the capture of Mor- 
gan ; but I doubt if even General Casey himself, the 
prince of tacticians, could have executed the march 
" by the right flank," "double-quick," in the requi- 
site number of "times" and "motions" after the 
Colonel's command. 

A lady in Greene County, New York, writing to 
the Drawer, sends the next two : 

Our little Will has a very sympathizing disposi- 
tion. Last winter brother John attended singing- 
school, and became very enthusiastic on the subject 
of vocal music. Coming into the sitting-room one 
day, where Will was busily engaged with his play- 
things, he took up a singing-book and began to ex- 
ercise his voice on the notes, to show us the pro- 
ficiency he had made. Will dropped his toys and 
looked at him. Every thing was forgotten in his 
interest for John ; and running up to him and 
laying his little hand upon his knee, he exclaimed, 
in a most pitying tone : "Poor Johnny ! don't cry, 
Johnny ! don't cry!" 

A short distance from us lives a gentleman of 
color, whose remarks are quite equal to Mrs. Part- 
ington's. One day last summer he happened to 

meet Mr. L , the Sunday-school superintendent, 

just before our door. Mr. L stopped to speak 

to him about some work he wished Sambo to do 
during the dav, telling him that he would be una- 
ble to oversee it himself, "for," said he, " the Sab- 


iiakpek's may monthly magazine. 

bath-school will have an excursion on the steam, r 
next week, and I am going to A— 1 — to-day to en- 
gage a hand of musicians." As he passed on. 
Sambo turned to the children, who were pla> ing in 
the vard, and sai<l : "Did you hear fat! 1 »' i 
goin' to be a great Sunday-school explosion on dc 

steamboat, and Mr. L is goin' to A to 'gage 

a band of physicians !" 

I'm u: Pai l K . of T . in Massat hus< t:<, 

was refreshingly free from over-stating: he could 
never have l>ecome a Western orator. Hi- way i f 
4 ' putting things" (as the country par-oii would term 
it) was the extreme op|josite of hij'aJuttn' ; it was 
moderate — it was safe. Once on a time, in the 
spring of the year, when the s:iow-drifta had not all 
melted, ami the roads were still miry, the team of a 
traveling merchant became stalled near I i- t 
I'ncle Paul repaired with a yoke of oxen to his as- 
sistance. The load not becoming speedily disen- 
gage,!, the |,, ■! il. r r.i •• d and stormed, and lrUl*<ml 
and swore with at -cumulating fury. I'ncle Paul 
endured in silence till he rotild en. lure no longer, 
and. unhitching his cattlr, drove home in di*gust, 
l<a\ing the itinerant merchant U»th m 
ina/e'l. "I went," said I'ncle Paul, in 



it. •• to tn 

t 1 came oi 

but k' talieU so 

S»»me graceless bora, on their way to bathe, 
killed some young birds in their ne»t near l'ocle 
Paul's house, ami during hit absence. On their 
return, having heard of their offense, he addressed 
them with hit most severe and indignant re pr onf. 
They n-|x.rted at the village, to the Mirpriw «.f nil. 
that " I.' noli Paul had bMB swearing at them with 
all his might." "What did he say?" they were 
asked. ** He said." they answered, "just as mad 
as he could b% * lioys, 1 think you've been doing 
vtty poorly P " 

A y«»c \t. lady of in ..-t exemplary an<l brantiful 
character had. i : the anguish of friend* and 
the sorrow of the whole village, just died of linger- 
ing consumption. When I'ncle Paul w.m informed 
of it he exilaimed, after a sail jiause ami with e\ i- 
dent feeling, and meaning what he said fur the 
wannest eulogy: "Well. 1 don't know anv thing 
but what she always behaved as well as could bf 

"Uncle Sin" (meaning Consider I) , of 

D , in Franklin County, Massachusetts) was at 

least peculiar, if not original. He di. .1 t. : > 
years since, nearly one hundred \ !. Many 

racy anecdotes are extant concerning him. He 
was very worldly, but very punctual in attending 
church, and even superstitious in his views and 
feelings. Rather hard of hearing, he sat near the 
pulpit; and once when his jiastor exchanged, not 
"getting the hang" of the preacher, he at la-t im 
patiently inquired of his wife, in a tremendous gut- 
tural whisper, loud enough to bo heard for several 
pews, and possibly by the speaker himself: 44 What 
OV airth is the feller driving at?" 

tainments (which were "for a consideration," as 
old Trapbois would say, sapper included) by a due 
amount of fasting in advance. On one occasion 
such a party had been extemporized more hastily 
than n- . .1 >: \ \ iu le Sid was cab. I ■ t gi>. to 
eat, and to j«ay, as lata as the forenoon of the da* on 
th<> evening ot which the tea-itartv was to come* off. 

So. no." said I n. le S,d. cmphaiicnlU ; " I -hotild 
nave ln*en nappy to go if you tl gin me more notice 
\ ou ginerally charge about four times as much as 
the thing is worth, and if 1 can have time to git 
ready 1 can git almut half my money's-worth I'm 
sorry 1 can't go, tut it's too short notice." 

K»:v. T. M , minister of on 

towns in Massachusetts was an att 
qucnt pulpit orator, and a wit of ih 
Swift, lie was the clerical wre 
whom the anecdote every little 


and was in tl 
• tderably esc 
utation of th 
deacons, rial 
practice, wbl 


and is even * ti I to hare t 
He waa rather a wr-rldl; 
abit t4 letting money at rati 
ng the lec a | *Jx )rr rent. 

vlalt, b* 
few . < 

aiwi. in ine name o| tl 
against the habit. M 

it w 

ate against the 
»t M-amUl. liet- 
thrm at his door 
e Utter than he 

tut re- 
h»an« ; 

ure«i i « in never 
re per cent, later- 
al matter." Kc~ 
I some. they, sit- 

compenled them to the d*»r. and at parting, with 
avity ami dignity, aatd : " Brethren, let me again 
sure you I will never after this take twelve, per 
tit., for I have found I can just as easily get 

rhteen P 

i com- 

11 Uncle Sid," though M fond of his coppers" (an 
old coin, familiar in the last generation, but now- 
found only with antiquarians i. was also a lover of 
"creature comforts," and seldom failed to attend a 
convivial party. With "an eye to the main chance." 
however, he would prepare himself lor these tntcr- 

I met on the highway a count 
mon with his neighbor*, waa al 
of that startling tragedy. Km 
jkijuts he anxiously inquired fu 
In detailing them to him I sta 
occurred in Ford's Theatre. an< 

• » — ■ — r — — 

v. rv naively replied, " I reckon the stage was jist 
riddy to start!" 

A ooRnr.^poNDF.TCT of the I>rawer in Ualtimore 
sends this reminiscence: 

Among the celebrated divines who hare long 
since passed away, and whose eccentricities were 
of a remarkable type, was Ker. William Cravens, 
of the Baltimore Annual Conference of the Meth- 
odist Kpi«copaI Church. He was letter known by 
the familiar gobri'put of " Old Hilly Craven-." The 


wonderful incidents which marked his life would 
fill a volume. 

Many years ago Mr. Cravens traveled a circuit 
which embraced in its limits the then small, but now 
large — and, prior to the war, flourishing — town of 
Staunton, Virginia. He was an inveterate enemy 
to the institution of negro slavery, and omitted no 
opportunity, in public or private, to denounce it in 
the most pointed language. In his pulpit minis- 
trations particularly would he expose the cruelties 
of the system, and dwell upon its certainly fatal 
consequences. The Episcopalians had just com- 
pleted the erection of a handsome church in the 
town of Staunton, and the "sale of pews" was an- 
nounced to take place on a certain day. To possess 
a pew was considered an indispensable adjunct to 
the social status of those aspiring to be called the 
F. F. V.'s of that community. Mr. Waite was a 
citizen once in affluent circumstances, but his estate 
had recently been reduced to the possession of a few 
slaves. He had a large family of daughters, and 
they could not brook the idea of compromising their 
respectability so far as to be without their pew in 
church. So Mr. W. was compelled to purchase a 
pew, and to raise the money for such purpose he 
sold one of his slaves. Shortly after this occurrence 
Mr. Cravens had an appointment to preach in the 
town of Staunton, and the above incident being 
made known to him, he made a public expose of 
the affair from his pulpit. It was at once reported 
on the streets, and produced great excitement. Mr. 
Waite threatened to prosecute the offender, and with 
this view consulted Judge Baldwin, of the Circuit 
Court. Mr. Cravens having left the town to fill an 
appointment elsewhere, a friend wrote to him, ad- 
vising him of the excitement the sermon had caused, 
and that Mr. W. intended to prosecute him. Mr. 
Cravens promptly replied "not to prosecute him; 
he would preach an apologetic sermon." 

This arrangement being quite satisfactory, Mr. 
Waite consented to waive the prosecution, and a 
day was duly fixed for the preaching of the " apolo- 
getic sermon." The church was crowded. Every 
class and condition of society was represented. 
Judge Baldwin was there. Mr. Waite occupied a 
chair immediately in front of the pulpit ; for, be it 
remembered, the sermon -was to be addressed to him ! 
Presently Mr. Cravens entered, and passing rapid- 
ly down the aisle ascended the pulpit, and opened 
the exercises in the usual manner with singing and 
pnryer. He then arose with the utmost gravity, 
and stated that he believed he was here to preach 
an " apologetic" sermon (emphasizing the adjective). 
He had searched the Bible through, from Genesis to 
Revelation, for a suitable text, and not being able 
to find one, he was driven to the necessity of mak- 
ing a text. And it was this : " Sell a nigger, and 
buy apeio." (Sensation.) Then fixing his eye on 
the injured Mr. Waite, he proceeded to deliver a 
scathing rebuke to the aforesaid individual for his 
inhumanity in bartering a slave for the privilege 
of a cushioned seat in the house of God. The au- 
dience was thunder-struck, and so was Waite, who, 
being unable to stand the pressure, sprung from his 
seat and beat a hasty retreat from the church, "Old 
Billy" crying out to him as he departed, " Hold on, 
honey, and P 11 fill your other pocket /" The effect 
of the sermon was magical. Public opinion imme- 
diately inclined to Mr. Cravens, and he was not 

Young America was very fond of visiting the 

DRAWER. 131 

room of a lady who was staying at his father's 
house. One day when he was there, lying on the 
floor, his usual position, the lady asked him to get 
up and shut the door, which he declined to do. 

"Why," said the lady, "I should think you 
would be willing to do it for me. If you wanted 
me to do any thing for you I should do it." 

"Should you?" he asked. 

' ' Yes — certainly." 

"Well, then" — and he gave her an arch look — 
"won't you please close that door for me?" 

It is needless to say that the lady closed the door 

" Before the war" I was for a time an inmate 
of a family ' ' 'way down South, " where the sun shone 
a trifle warmer than here, and the breezes were not 
got up on quite so magnificent a scale as they are 
on these Iowa prairies. Among the house servants 
there was a little black-eyed, black-skinned, round- 
headed son of Africa, who was acknowledged by the 
entire household to be "a sort of genius in his way ; 
and as all geniuses have their eccentricities, so 
Charles had his — one of which was that he never 
acknowledged ignorance on any subject whatever. 
I do not believe that the universal " I don't know, 
Sah" — the refuge of the whole non-commital negro 
race — ever passed Charles's lips. There was no 
word that he could not define, no remark which he 
could not understand. One evening his master, 
who was a physician, sent him to his office for a 
large bottle of ammonia. Charles started, light in 
hand, when his master stopped him with, "Now, 
Charles, be very careful, for ammonia is a combus- 
tible fluid;" then, thinking to trip Charles where 
he had never fallen before, he questioned — " Do you 
know what combustible means ?" "Yes, Sah," was 
the ready answer ; " it means it will knock me down 
if I smell of it !" It was impossible to keep back 
the laugh until Charles was out of hearing. All 
understood at once that he had gained this defini- 
tion by actual experience, 

At another time Charles was waiting, a little while 
after his usual hour for retiring, with a face which 
plainly indicated impatience for his release, when 
his master, somewhat jocosely, said, "It is unneces- 
sary for you to remain longer, Charles. You can 
abscond." " Stop, Charles !" cried his young mis- 
tress, a child of thirteen years. " What does father 
mean by abscond?" Charles hesitated a moment; 
when, suddenly recollecting an order given earlier 
in the day but still unperformed, all doubt van- 
ished from his sleepy face, and he triumphantly ex- 
claimed, " That I'se to kill the chickens for break- 
fast, Miss Eliza!" 

Our Corps, the Twelfth, passed through Fred- 
erick, Maryland, after the battle of Gettysburg, 
during a cold, drenching rain-storm, many of the 
boys shoeless and half clad, and all pretty well worn 
out after four days of hard fighting and many days 
of forced marching. The gallant Seventh Regiment 
New York Militia was doing duty then, posted at 
intervals along the streets of the city, and with their 
new and well-fitting uniforms, polished boots, white 
paper collars, and every thing looking as bright as 
a new bonnet just from the bandbox, they present- 
ed a striking contrast to our w r ar-worn veterans. 

The boys were disposed to poke a little fun at these 
fine - looking chaps. One of the devil-may-cares 
of the Forty-sixth Pennsylvania moved along our 
ranks, cutting high shines with a huge umbrella he 



had just "borrowed" from an indignant citi/. n. and 
seeing a fine-looking specimen of the Seventh it 
ing on the sidewalk, stepped up to him. and with a 
comic mock-politeness address, d him w ith : " Say. 
Mister, you'd better come in under this umbrella; 
you might get damp out there 1" The Berenth 
man wheeled about and disappeared, amidst the 
loud shouts and laughter of tli.- bojl. A little I r- 
ther on a sentinel, erect and in position, a p. rf. . t 
•picture of the neat soldier, was posted. One of the 
hovs stopped, and coolly surveying him from h< a ! 
to foot, turned to his comrades, and with finger 
pointed to the "soger," remarked : •• I "a; . f< ll< r-. 
now wouldn't he make the puttUst kind of a corpse ?" 
The Seventh man took the joke in good jvart. eftH d 
up the 11 blue-belly. gave him a V. Bad id 1 him : 
"You're a bfiekl M like t.» tr. at pM M I 
dinner over in York!" And the boyi | d « n. 
most comfortless and distressful in appearance, but 
always lively and ready |. r a joke. 

A < i.KT.M\ ehnrofa hi the city of New Tork, l«e- 

ing without a pastor, invited a A 
guished divine from Central N< w l ' rk t.. supply 
their pulpit for tWO Sabbaths. The mini't. r < . tn 
plied, and when hi* mission wa« ended the trustee* 
sent him thirty dollars in "legal lender." lie ac. 
cepted the amount, uud left w ith a friend the follow- 
ing bill : 

The Trusteci of the < hurch. 

To L O . Pr. 

For prearhlnp two Habbath* 

Kxpenaca to New York and rrlurulnr 19 

Nino day»' buarJ tf 


Cr. \\j OBah 

lUlanre duo *u5 

Ordinary* swindling i* punishable at law, but 
such sharp practire tinder the garb of ri-1 i.- i« -n goes 
ttnrcbuked. One of the mender* i« a millionaire. 
We hope the " parson'' will show pluck, and collect 
his bill w ith i lit- r< -t. 

mw to us 


Tiirsn two specimens of intelligen 
all the way fp'tn Nevada: 

Whether ignoranee i- bliss or not i 
so long as it is pertinent to the pre 
to cl dm that it is another name f. r 
the following heir witness: An extremely ig"«»- 
rant but very conceited fellow in then* part* prt 
into a conversation with a well-informed gentleman 
with regard to the Speakership of the loemf branch 
of Congress, w hen the gentleman informed Ignora- 
mus that the Speaker wa- >i t 1 \ members 
Of that braneh. 

u There I* exclaimed Ignoramus; "didn't I bell 

Mr. II that the im mUrs had no right to make 

speeches in Congress, bat that all the speaking was 
done by a man elected by them for that purpose !" 

ting evil we will agree to pay the forfeit of a U>lth 
of Sonoma wine to him who shall s« ud a UtUr one 
to the Drawer. 

A it w vears ago a new postmaster was appoint* 
id in the tow n » f ( "an ton. I\nns\ 1\ ai.i a. w ho was 
a gentleman of the "Old School." I.ntcring upon 
the new duties of the situation, he for a time tilled 
the office with dignity, and. to all appearance, with 
satisfaction. One day, a large numl»er of persons 
(•ring in the office, a man called for a letter the 
initial of lb- la»t n un. I- in- M. Whereupon the 
worthy pentnastcr took down a large numUr of 
bt:<r«, and looking tin tn oxer said that there was 
no letter there ; adding that 11 < f the letters nearly 
w« re for a Mr. I*. M., and that he w i»h« 1 he would 
call and get tin m ; " tor. " said be, •• I I'on't know 
what tn do with them. I have lived in Canton far 
twetit . • \ ir ! I t • \ . r h, ard < f a man by 

the name of 1*. M. ret !** The r^ir that follow* d 
gave the V. M. an idea that there was something 

A aiioirT time ago, as we were on hoard a train of 
cam, a man was very much engaged in trying to 

drunken fellow starred up to him. saving : " Mr. 
t what a big fool your grandfather mu»t ha\e 

been Mr. at once changed the subject, 

while the car was filled with the moot deafening 


On one of the San Francisco turnpike*, near a 
malar ftew-ride hotel, is a < hine»e wadi h< u»e, the 

or of whh h asked a 
i for him. The obi 
w rote with a mark 

of " Washing and 

tn man 
ih on a 
rr— )'<m 
ilay. the 
Tin* the 

done hen 

M.**r years ago tin re was a grand Indian scare 
in one of our interior towns, and a rallying meeting 
was held for the purpose of gathering a force to fight 
the foe. Night came on, and a* all were asaem- 
bled, and every thing was in readiness to start early 
in the morning, the inborn American gift of gab 
broke out in the shape of an impromptu oration from 
a Mr. Winn, who tnok occasion to "fly the bird. ' 
much to the disgust of an honest Irishman, who, 
stretched on a hem h in the l<ock part of the room 
where the people w. re a mbl d. w a- tr\ ing to ^. t 
some sleep, to be prepared for the early morning 
man h. After turning and twisting in vain, ho 
ni». ! I :im». If up and bellowed: " Misther Winn! 
Mi.iUr Winni" wveral times. Securing the aU 


If the above is not sudicient to convince you 
that we have at least one supremely happy man 
out here, then let the following display of blissful 
ignorance have a place in the Drawer : 

A couple of individuals having located some min- 
ing ground which they were anxious to prospect, 
hunted up Ignoramus, and told him if he would take 
a one-third interest, and pay his assessments, he 

Misther Winn. I say, it s my humble bc- 

'I here was 

he said 

lafe that ye re a Winn-dy customer 
uo more speaking on that occasion. 

A lb KFAivnxiA* says : The follow ing amusing in- 
cident occurred at our Internal Revenue office the 
last time we paid our income-tax. S— — , a welU 
known barl»cr. made up his list, amounting to - 

should have one-third of the proceeds of their lalxir. The ( b rk glance.1 at the footing and handed it back, 

Ignoramus replied : "If I can't have a sixth or 
a seventh I won't have anv!' 

saymg, "No tax on incomes below #600. o , 

however, waited some time, till noticed by the 

If the above is not a fair temple of man's beset- Clerk, when the following colloquy ensued 



Clerk. " Waiting for anv thing ?" 

S . "Mv$63." 

Clerk. "What $63?" 

S . ' ' Why, my income was only $537, and I 

understood the Government would make it up to me /" 

A friend in Philadelphia writes : 

Several years ago I crossed from Palermo to Na- 
ples in company with other Americans, one of whom 
was a merchant of Boston. We went to the same 
hotel, and the day after our arrival paid a visit to 
Pompeii. Our Boston friend was disgusted with 
the appearance of things soon after he entered the 
ruined city, and was desirous of going back to Na- 
ples. He dragged along with us, however, for 
about half an hour, abusing the place all the time ; 
Until at last he stopped short, and said: " Note, 
who was this Pompey, any how V This reads strange- 
ly of Boston, but it is true. 

At Utica, New York, the following verdict was 
given by the jury impanneled by Coroner Munroe, 
at the inquest which was held on the body of the 
late William C. Champlin : 

u We are of the opinion that the deceased is the body 
of William C. Champlin, and that he came to his death 
by hanging himself in his barn with a rope, on the morn- 
ing of Wednesday, March 28, 18G6, and thus died, and 
not otherwise." 

Not long since we were attending a Sabbath- 
school in one of the rural districts not a thousand 
miles from this city, where a worthy "brother" 
and exemplary Christian was called upon to open 
the school with prayer. Now this brother was given 
to much speaking, and was one of those who seem 
not to know how or when to end a prayer or an ex- 
hortation. He wandered on in his prayer, not for- 
getting to mention every thing in heaven above or 
in the earth beneath, and Avhen at last he reached 
the final "Amen" at least two-thirds of the hour 
had passed awaj r . It was customary to follow the 
prayer with singing, but upon this day the worthy 
Superintendent determined to dispense with that 
part of the regular programme, and proceed at once 
to hear the lessons, and he made the announcement 
in this wise: "As so much time has run to waste, 
we will proceed at once with the lessons !" A good 
commentary, I thought, upon interminable prayers. 

Apropos to the anecdote in a recent Number of 
the Magazine in which the "one thing needful" was 
"a new cart," I send you the following real inci- 
dent, for the truth of which the lady herself will 
vouch, if necessary : 

Miss Kate W having recently become Mrs. 

Kate S — -, and commenced life in her new home, 
was called upon one evening by the very estimable 

Mr. and Mrs. James M . After spending the 

evening very pleasantly in conversation upon gen- 
eral topics the worthy couple arose to depart, and 
Kate accompanied them to the door, Mr. and Mrs. 
M the while congratulating her upon the ap- 
pearance of her house, furniture, and prospects of 
future happiness ; when, casting his eyes over tke 

still unfinished front stairs, Mr. M said, very 

solemnly : "And yet, Mrs. S , there's one thing 

needful." "Oh yes," instantly and innocently re- 
plied Kate, ' ' a stair-rail and balusters, and we are 
going to have them before long!" — when the good 
man's meaning flashed across her mind, and as the 
door closed upon him her blushes were overlooked 

in the hearty laugh which followed. Mr. M 

has never alluded to the " one thing needful" since, 
doubtless thinking Kate " past redemption." 

A few army stories are still left : 

We had in my Company in the — d Iowa Regi- 
ment a member named Charley C . Charley 

was the best-natured fellow you ever saw, and very 
talkative. Politics and military matters were his 
favorite themes, and he would talk to patient list- 
eners for hours together, arranging every thing to 
his entire satisfaction. But no sooner was he con- 
tradicted than he would begin to argue, and before 
long wax hot and excited. At such times he would 
handle the English language rather roughly, and 
throw about with "big words" indiscriminately, as 
long as they had a semblance of sound to the one he 
wished to use. Talking about the merits and de- 
merits of General Burnside one day, Charley sudden- 
ly burst forth : "Burnside ! don't talk to me about 
Burnside ! Look at what the old synagogue did 
down in Maryland !" 

Company " B" of our regiment boasted of a Ger- 
man named B , who had quite a way of his own 

in getting off a "joke" or " hit" on somebody. In 
the month of April, 1864, while stationed at Pulas- 
ki, Tennessee, the whole division was ordered out 
one da} r , and drawn up in line on the principal 
thoroughfare of the " borough," to witness the 
drumming-out of three members of the — th Illinois 
Regiment for stealing. They were sentenced by 
court-martial to have "one side of their heads 
shaved, their buttons cut off their dress -coats, 
and each to have a board, two feet long and ten 
inches wide, with the word "Robber" inscribed 
upon it, tied to his back." Each regiment, as it 
stood in line, had to furnish a guard, whose duty it 
was to keep the citizens back on the opposite side 
of the street. B was one of the number de- 
tailed from our regiment. After we had returned 

to camp and had been dismissed, B ' walked up 

to the tent of the first sergeant, where quite a num- 
ber of boys had gathered, and addressed them as 
follows: "Boys, I tells you someting! As I vas 
valking my peat, just as dem fellows had passed, 
an honest-looking, gray-headed old citizen stepped 
up to me, and, pointing after dem fellows, ask me, 
" Soldier, are dey Quarter-masters ?" Pretty good 
for a Deutscher, ain't it ? 

An old correspondent, now in Nevada, sends the 
three following: 

In the palmy days of Democracy in California I 
was a member of the Convention which met at Sac- 
ramento, and which nominated M. S. Latham for 
its candidate as Governor. The greater lights at the 
altar of Democracy desiring to shine on that occa- 
sion were John B. Weller and M. S. Latham ; 
among the lesser lights was Wm. L. Dudley. The 
latter was from Calaveras County. Feeling that 
his individual chances for the nomination were very 
slim, he intimated a desire to withdraw his name 
from the consideration of the Convention. So when 
his name was mentioned calls for "Bill Dudley" 
arose in the old Benton Church, and Bill went upon 
the pulpit stand and withdrew from the contest with 
thanks, etc., appropriately expressed, and closed as 
follows: "I have served the Democracy of old 
Calaveras faithfully for seven years, and received 
my Leah. I am willing to serve the Democracy 
of California seven years longer for my Rebekah /" 



Such a reference to Scripture knowledge had never 
before come from the pulpit of Benton's C hank, 
and never will again, I think. The Convention 
roared l'or a while. 

In a late murder trial in our l>i.-trict Curt at 
Austin, in Reese River, a dog was annoying l '" 
attendants within the bar by prying his n< < v. r\ 
where and getting between the legs of the persona 
present. The Judge nodded to th • Sheriff, who in 
an instant snatched the dog by the throat and jerked 
him out of the window. The shock of th< 
by the SherilT was so great that the cur did not 
have time to yelp; whereupon a wag ut the bar 
whisj>ered loud enough to be heard, " That dog 
should have moved for a continuance upon the 
ground of surprise !" The seriousness of the murder 
trial was interrupted by ipiite a titter around the bar. 

in a moment the truth flashed through hi* mind, 
and it was with a great effort that he enabled 
to control hi> risible* so that his \ i-it.>r<.' chagrin 
might not be uunccc&sarilv augmented, v h<>n he 
nned them that the carelessness of the telegraph 
ojM-rator had cauv d them a trip tor nothing, and 
that boat capstans, not cajtt tins, were wanted ! 

l>t niN». tl 
day in the i 
Cairo, lllinoi 
all good* sb 
was neoessai 
be furnished 

Otic Reese River District Judge is somewhat j out a h 
johativr. A new member of our bar, who goes by the yon 
the sobriquet of "Did Dignity," asked the Judge form, 
one day, " Ilow l.nvj the prisoner « »« i;t« :.. • «l »uddvid 
to?" The Judge replied, "lie waa not sentenced the wb< 
to lour; at all ; he w a> ~. i.i- u< !t.:i. I . i. alio- ! guised I 
rv." at which a laugh ensued at the c \ |>eii«* of low goi 
"Old Dig," who only mumbled out, "Ho thought inrrtdu 
there was the biggest set of children he ever saw , reply, I 
around the court-house in thi* town. " exclain 

me years ago 

en. Among 

Om: of the most estimable of m< 
died and left a wife and ral • 
the latter w as a Uiy of i -ight <t tm \ < arm, who waa 
the very |>crsouiiication of mischief. 1 1 if* mother, 
finding she could not control him. put him in charge 
of a reverend gentleman of the neighbor hotal, who 
made it a rub-, when \< r the I my committed a fault 
which required » orrection, to giva him a taste of 
the rod, and then make him get on hi* knee* and 
ask (iod to forgive the sin committed and lb *» hi* 
corrector. Tho boy proved to be t<«i much i. r th<« 
reverend to manage. He was then placed in charge 
of a very « \. . 11. ut Udy. w b . v. .. . .stiuguidted for 
a long and pointed n. ■ *«■. Shortly after she took 
him in charge sho was obliged to give htm a Hog- 
ging. As soon as it was through »he waa sur- 
prised to sec him drop on his knees, and |«rha|»4 
more surprised to hear him pray to lie forgiveu for 

what he bad done— and " blc*s Mrs. J , and 

lengthen out her days as long as her nose, onlv not 
quite so sharp!" 

FROM Orwell, Ohio, tho Drawer receives some 
pleasant contribution- : 

In the summer of '64, while the great military 
bridge was I cing constructed o\ . r tl..- T. nn.--c- 
River, at Chattanooga, the engineer in charge of 
the work made a requisition uj>on Captain .Smith, 
the Dep-t < J • i.irt . r. i r tv, ■ -team boat cap- 

Ptalt, to be u<ed in completing the draw of the 
bridge. As the capstans could not be procured in 
Chattanooga, a dispatch was not to the Quarter- 
master at Bridgeport to forward the same without 
delay. The next day two burly-looking individu- 
als presented themselves at Captain Smith's office, 
with a letter of introduction from the Bridgeport 
Quarter-master, stating that the gentlemen he had 
sent were intelligent and reliable men, and w- 11 
qualified, by long experience, to take charge of any 

kind of river craft. Captain S read the 1 tter 

with profound amazement, not having at first the 
least idea why the men should be sent to him ; but 

' jr. . t" the war I w a- -itting ore 
of Able and Co. a wharf-boat, at 
\t that time a tax was collected on 
J South by private parties, and it 

it ib. pill lie in\ eliel ,.f shipment-* 

t ■ lb . t< r In l«nr the |- rimtx . . uld 
ranee of this fact by many »hip|»ers 
d them much annoyance, and iu- 
nu - mad. out with great haste, in 

rlerka on the boat to copy out in due 
boy worked away down the H»t, but 

brought up standing, and electrified 
ice by exclaiming, in a volt , of undia- 
>mcnt : M What live dickens U that fel- 

do with (our boxes Tom CaU? H An 
laugh from the other clerks was the 
e Uiv pointed triumphantly t»> the lint, 

"'lhat'a what it is — 1 tt m Cats 

1 kio»w how to read!" The entrance 

A Yam: mm writes to the Drawer t 

The i'resh men and S>phon»ore elaoars were en* 
»»fed the other evening in one of their periodical 

ru»be*, " as they call them, ami had attracted a 
real crowd both of partiri|4iits and »|iectat«>rs. 
u»l then there came bv one of the eoHrifP tutor*. 

v into 

I t. ke 

o \ our 


vou will all be U 

Know Illinois we have these two that follow : 

i'rofesflor II , of the Iowa Medical < < liege. 

Is an inveterate joker, as his friend* know to their 
grief. Ilia beat joking field b among the its b-nta, 
who semi-annually throng his school for instruction 
in the healing art. But once upon a time an ex- 
military student of his class tbnk< d and vanquished 
him by one of those deceptive movements known 

genetically as '•strategy." Professor H was 

lecturing hi* » la-s uj-oa di-.-a-.- of \\,o cranium 
generally, and accidents to that locality specially; 
and. to conclude, qui/Z'd th»*ni thoroughly on the 
difference l>ctween fracture of the skull and concus- 
sion of the brain, and was pleased to s* e that all 
understood it. but was annoved and pained to find 
that the military man couldn't see it. 

Now you can hardly see tbe-point of the student's 
joke unless you can understand how fully in earnest 
the Professor is in all his instructions, and how anx- 
ious he Is to have his class clearlv comprehend everv 
subject introduced. To this end he would, if neces- 
sary, spend a whole night in explanations. 


On this occasion, when he found the young man 
still ignorant of the subject, he patiently went 
through a long and tedious explanation, in the most 
commonplace terms, and then asked, "What he 
would do if he had a case of concussion of the 
brain ?" After several minutes of profound cogita- 
tion, he replied, " I think I would use the trephine" 
(an instrument only used in cases of fracture). At 
this reply the Professor seemed almost to despair 
of imparting the necessary knowledge to an under- 
standing of the subject, but again gave the student 
a most elaborate description of the skull and its 
construction, and a very lucid discourse upon the 
brain and its functions — expatiating largely upon 
the different symptoms produced by a fracture of 
the one and a concussion of the other, and fully ex- 
plained the treatment adapted to the separate cases, 
all in his earnest, energetic manner ; and then ask- 
ed, almost triumphantly, as having assisted the 
young man to surmount a huge obstacle to his as- 
cent of the hill of Science, "Now, what would you 
do first if you had a case of fracture of the skull ?" 

" I think I would send for a doctor ?" 

Such a shout as greeted the disgusted Professor 
at this reply would have broken up a Western camp 
meeting. There was no more lecturing that day, 
and for a long time Professor H had " informa- 
tion on the brain" which made him very sensitive 
to any allusion to that organ. 

The Rev. John Henry, a minister of the Meth- 
odist Episcopal Church, emigrated to this country 
from Ireland about the year 1829, and was sent to 
Eastern Circuit, Talbot County, Maryland, a short 
time afterward. He was a fine preacher and ac- 
complished theologian, but as simple as a child per- 
taining to matters of the world. His many inno- 
cent and amusing blunders were often the subject 
of sportive remarks among his friends. 

On one occasion he was called on by Hon. John 
Leeds Kerr, formerly United States Senator, who 
informed him that his horse had been in the habit 
of getting into a pasture lot belonging to him (Mr. 
Kerr), and suggesting that he had better take meas- 
ures to prevent the trespass in future. "An', Mr. 
Kerr," said Mr. Henry, "have you a better place 
to put him ?" 

On another occasion he was preaching in a coun- 
try meeting-house, the pulpit, as was frequently the 
case in those days, being elevated nearly to the 
ceiling, when he heard a tapping on the roof imme- 
diately over his head. lie at once stopped and 
listened. "What's that?" said he. One of the 
brethren told him not to be alarmed ; it was only a 
woodpecker pecking on the roof. "An' will he 
hurt my horse?" said he. 

Mr. Drawer, — I notice in j^our collection of cu- 
riosities several from Michigan. I will give you 
another, which created some merriment when it 
was got off: 

We were doing duty in the wilds of Arkansas, 
and were longing to hear something from our State, 
when Captain Isaac Wilson, known throughout 
the regiment (Third Michigan Cavalry) for his 
"dryness," his length of person, and slender legs 
— which were got up after the sucker fashion — 
came up fresh from the Wolverine State (having 
been absent on leave) to the sutler's tent, where 
were congregated a number of gossiping officers. 
After the greeting was over, and hands shaken all 
around, " Ike" was asked how matters stood in 

DRAWER. 135 

I Michigan. "Right bad!" he said; "I came near 
j being arrested for vagrancy." "Why, how was 
that?" asked several at once. "Why," answered 
the imperturbable Cap, " for having no visible means 
of support!" 

Here is another from the same source : 
A number of officers were descanting on the bus- 
iness sacrifices each had made by entering the serv- 
ice. Several had expressed their losses in high 
figures, when the Captain broke in with — "I have 
lost more by entering the service than any other 
officer present ; I lost ten thousand dollars in gold." 
" How did that happen?" said an officer who had 
placed his figures above the others. "When I en- 
tered the service," said Ike, " I thought of marrying 
a girl worth $10,000, but soon after I left the State 
she married another chap!" 

We saw Jake nailing up a box, the other day, 
containing some articles which he intended sending 
by express. From the nature of the contents we 
knew it was essential that the box should not be 
inverted on the passage. So we ventured the sug- 
gestion to Jake to place the much-abused " This 
side up!" etc., conspicuously upon the cover. A 
few days after we saw Jake. "Heard from your 
goods, Jake ? Did they get there safely ?" " Ev- 
ery one broke !" replied Jake, sullenly. " Lost the 
hull lot! Hang the Express Company!" "Did 
you put on, ' This side up,' as we told 3 r ou ?" " Yes, 
I did ; an' fur fear they shouldn't see it on the kiver, 
I put it on the bottom tew — confound 'em !" 

A cousin of mine visited Charleston, South Car- 
olina, recently, and seeing a negro lounging on a 
bale of cotton, accosted him, saying : 

"Well, Uncle, I suppose, you are enjoying your 
freedom ?" 

" Yes, berry much." 

" What are you doing now?" 

"Nothing at de present time." 

" But 4 nothing' won't feed you long." 

He replied, with great deliberation : "I am not 
speaking for long; I am speaking for de present 
time ! " 

Among the "characters" who have passed away 
during the past few years is one who was known 
far and near as " Old Hat," though how he earned 
this respectful appellation is to the writer unknown. 
But he bore it well, and always answered to it. He 
came to Western New York at an early day, se- 
cured a competence, and then, resting on his well- 
earned honors, passed his years at the grocery, the 
shoemaker's, and the tavern, telling the most pro- 
digious yarns that mortals ever heard. Here is one 
he used to tell with honesty and sincerity beaming 
from'every feature : 

"Yes," Old Hat would say, "that was a curious 
circumstance ; but it's true, every word of it — true 
as I stand here. You see one of my horses was 
taken sick when I was plowing, and it died in less 
than ten minutes. It was powerful sudden. I 
never see the beat on't, and I felt bad, I tell you; 
but the animal was dead, and I was in a mighty 
hurry ; so I jest cut the hide open, hitched t'other 
hoss to it, and— off it come ! Well, I did it up and 
sent it to the tannery, but pretty soon I see the 
old hoss wasn't quite dead. It began to kick and 
breathe regular, and fust I knew it was up on its 
feet lookin' around, and not a bit of hide on except 



round the head. Well, you pee it couldn't live so 
long, so I thought I'd try an ex|*riment. 1 took 
four— no, three— no, it was four .-hcep— I want to 
keep to the truth— and skinned 'era. put their hid -s 
right on to the old husu, tied 'em on tight, and they 
growed right tight to the critter, all except a lecth" 
siK)t on the oil' fore-shoulder, and that 1 cured up in 
a little while. It's a fact ; and some years I sheared 
more'n forty pounds of line wool otT from that ar 
l, oss _just as true as I Ptand here!'' And "Old 
Hat's" face would beam out with nek g«nial sclf- 
satisfaction at liis ingenuity, and so brim over with 
candor, that few were found who dan d t-> throw 
suspicion on this startling feat of surgical skill. 

"MoXKY is no 'count to me." he w ould m\ . " I 
had so ranch stuff of one kind and another when I 
lived East it fairly |m .stcrcd me. Why. when I 
came away I burned up a pile Nigger than a merl- 
in-house, because I didn't know what to do with 
it! I was in something of a hurry, and when I I ft 
there was twenty-two cows— or three— twenty-two, 
if I remcmlKT right— in a Imrn. one side a little 
ways, that I forgot all alwut ; and the |««<r thing* 
bein'all til up starved to death, I heard afterward. 
It was too pesky bad"— "Old Hat" would add. hit 
mouth overflowing with smiles and tolocvo-juice— 
" too bad, but 1 clean forgot 'em !" 

Ou> Jo Philps U a character known far and 
w ide through this section of count ry t Connecticut) 
as ft vendor of fish ; very much given to hi* cup*, 
but a man of good education and con*iderahle wit. 
A Unit five yearn ago hi* elde»t son, who In al*n 
rather inclined to the use of the flowing I- w\ 
wished to go on a whaling voyage ; ao old Jo t- r- 
ni»hed him the needful, and the boy «tarted for New 
lk-dford to ship, hut while there |»e got on a spree 
and s|H*nt all his nv-ney ; he then concluded he 
would lik" to return to In homo and give up hi* 
proposed voyage, to he wrote to his father for the 
wherewith to return. Old Jo being a little set up 
at the time of the receipt of t!i« 1. tt r, went ». I 
telegraph i and sent the following meaaagc : 
" If you want to come home &-U y<ur ml!'* 

Tin: little son. only four years old, of a gentle- 
man in Chicago had received, as a present from hi* 
lather, some chickens and a little dog. Soon after 
coming into possession of his treasures the chickens 
commenced to lay, and, as a matter of course, he 
was much interested in gath ring up th< ir t 
One day he found an egg in tin- dog-hMM — a cir- 
cumstaiue that to him conveyed only one meaning. 
When his father came home lie ran to him and im- 
parted his hright idea in the following word' : " « »h, 
papa, I think that '. '> dittiu to be a chitten, he's 
laid an egg |" 

TiiF.RF. lives in Lexington, Missouri, a grand old 
patriot. Major W. R Smallwond. now nearly ninety 
years old. Major Smalhvood is emphatically a 
Wotem man. having moved from Virginia to ( >hio 
about the year 1800, where he continued to live 
until some ten or twelve years ago, when he came 
to Missouri, whither most of his boys had emigrated 
before him. The old patriot of whom I write served 
his country in the war of 1812; and when treason 
•raised its standard sheet he was not slow to espouse 
the cause of his country, and sought to inspire all 
around him with like patriotic sentiments. At the 
time General Price's army reached Lexington, on 

the occasion of his last raid int.- Mi»M»uri. Mr. S. 
was stayifig at his son's residence, about one mile 
from l<cxing:on. General Shelly e brigade was 
already encamped all around the house and in the 
orchard. The old veteran could not k<« p still, m r 
stay in the bou*e. but hobbled attotit w ith his cane, 
denouncing trait- r> fr. - 1\ a> if he had an army at 
hi> back. One evening he was standing at the front 
gate when a rrliel officer rode up and accosted him. 

♦•Old gentleman, can you tell me where General 
Price's head-quarters are?** 

"No. Sir, but I can tell wu where thev ought 
to be.* 

" Well, where do you think they ought to be?" 

For an instant the blood of his youthful days re- 
turned, and the old soldier replied, shaking lib) faith- 
ful cane in the face of the officer : 

"In hell, Sir!— in bell!'* 

A itx^t story l« told of Elder Allen, an aged 
ni«!er in a part of New England where, at that 
te, the decorum usually observed in public Wor» 
p had l>een bat imperfectly developed. The 
ler had I- ■ n greatly annoyed, especially during 
ivcr, by the rc«tles» ilemeanor of inemlicrs of his 
igregation. The ai»lc» resounded with the foot- 
pa of those who saw fit to go out, and again 
lord to the tread i»f the laifirarda wlm detain* d 

I ju«t seen (it to come In. The I lder, though 
i»ng in exhortation, wa* bot weak In grammar, 
I his »■ .! w a* \< \« ! within him. I'aii*iug in his 
iver, and leisurely »urveiing his Hock, he gave 
it to wish that "them that was in wmild 
f ss>, a 1 them that waa oat tiny out, and put a 

•erved am-'-g the |e rends of a 


here?" The old ladies 
■ii ; among them waa a 
passionate desire to at- 
m region round aUiut. 
circulated of the death 

been mentioned, but jmigmg that they would occur 
lin, each arrayed" in a new black silk apron, a» be- 

mare — had called for Sister Champlin. and by dint 
of much persuasion of the obstinate beast, the pair 
by nine o'clock reached the borders of the town 
where the minister had resided. At this point they 
met Mr. Sharp's hired man, driving a yoke of rat- 
tle. The old ladies drew up, and Sister Champlin, 
as spokeswoman, inquired w hat hour had been ap- 
pointed for Mr. Sharp's funeral. 11 Why, Ideas yer 
soul, Miss Champlin, the minister ain't dead yet ! — 
shouldn't be surprised if he held out till fall; he's 
got the wear in him, the old man has!" Aunt 
Sarah drew up the reins with an air of resignation, 
as if to turn round. Suddenly she dropped them. 

Si »t'T t h im pi in ! Si-ter Champlin ! d w a«k the 
cretur if he dou't know of a funeral we can tcu: /" 









DURING the fortnight between the 30th 
of May and 14th of June I find no event 
recorded worthy of special comment. The 
news of Kelley's victory at Phillippi and But- 
ler's defeat at Big Bethel were received and 
commented upon according to the faith and 
sympathies of the commentators. The day of 
vehement protest and passionate discussion was 
past. Since the voting on the 23d of May 
Unionism in Jefferson was dumb. All interest 
was centred in the adverse preparations for the 
coming struggle. One party gloated in silence 
over exaggerated rumors of the martial power 
concentrating at Chambersburg and Washing- 
ton, while the other with wide-mouthed vaunts 
told of the invincible hosts at Manassas and 
Harper's Ferry ; yet with the advent of actual 
war quarreling had ceased in a great measure. 


The thunder of the opening cannon had be- 
gun to dissipate illusions in which many had 
indulged. Blood had already flowed. This 
mustering of armies might, after all, turn out 
to be something more serious than "a log-cab- 
in and hard-cider demonstration," as some had 
fondly hoped it would be. We are told of cer- 
tain savage tribes who believe that an eclipse 
of the moon is caused by the endeavor of a 
great codfish to swallow that planet ; conse- 
quently when an eclipse takes place they get 
up a mammoth charivari to frighten the fish 
and make him disgorge. Now there was a very 
prevalent idea among those who were aiding 
and abetting Secession that all this military de- 
monstration was nothing more than a grand 
charivari, calculated to frighten the great Yan- 
kee codfish into loosening his hold on the Na- 
tional Government which it was supposed he 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerk's Office of the Dis- 
trict Court for the Southern District of New York. 

Vol. XXXIII.— No. 194.— K 


was about to swallow. As the grim reality 
began to force itself upon them these dream- 
ers grew thoughtful, .silent, and sour- even 
manifested a willingness to retrograde from 
their extreme position: but they had kindled 
a fire which they could not quench, and had 
raised a storm which would overwhelm them 
and their infatuated victims in common ruin. 
It was curious to observe the psychological phe- 
nomena of these days. In January, the indig- 
nation against South Carolina was universal. 
A call for volunteers to suppress her would 
have been answered by a general uprising. In 
February, indignation had calmed dow u to sim- 
ple disapproval, and a disposition to South 
Carolina and the rest to the i nstigation due from 
the General Government ; yet one who would 
have publicly advoc ated the Secessi.ui of Yir 
ginia ran a risk of being stoned in the streets. 
In March, advocacy of Sc< -essiim un ler certain 
circumstances was tolerated, and Unionism l«e- 
gan to be modified with many an "if" nnd 
"but." In April, surprised nml overwhelmed 
bv the sudden action of the Richmond Junto, 
backed by extraneous armed force, Unionism 
in Kastern and Middle Virginia after a »hort 
and unavailing resistance \ id led miuI, ImhIv. 
and estate in ignominious miIhiii«i.ih to the 
remorseless conqueror. In May. ninny of those 
who had been most positive and uncoiitpromi*- 

ing in their resistan f Set ession were now 

found among its most /eal"ii* partisans. 

During the prevalence of epidemic iIi-mw 
it is observed that on their first np|icanince the 
cases are of a milder ty]»o ntul slow in develop* 
ment, but as the contagion sj.rci U .1 n < 1 j 
gresses its symptoms increase in nrulemtj a: -1 
intensity ; the premonitions of an attack arc 
shorter, and frequently do not np|*car at all 
the ineipiencv, development, and fatal c.»n. In 
sion all occurring within the space of a few 
hours. It was thus with the grent political 
epidemic of I S«;o »;i . us observed in the distrn t 
occupied and covered by Joe Johnston's army. 
Hy the month of .June the circle of more ro- 
bust characters that still retained their political 
sanity was small and diminishing daily. They 
did not drop oil" now after long nnd lingering 
arguments, painful doubts, rallying*, and re 
lapses as formerly; but a normal mind would 
fall suddenly into incoherence and frenzy. 
Principles based upon the education and hab- 
its of a lifetime, sustained by the clearest views 
of interest, the pride of consistency, and every 
sentiment of honor, would perish in a night, 
like the gourd of Jonah. This change was 
easily discernible in the countenance and de- 
meanor of its victims. Yesterday your friend 
looked in your face with a clear ami • nest 
eye, and discussed questions calmly and logic- 
ally. To-day he shunned you, his eye was 
restless and unsteady, his manner painfully ex- 
cited, his talk full of incohcrencics ; in a short 
time you would perceive there was a total ab- 
sorption of all his previous opinions, idiosyn- 
crasies, social sympathies, and antipathies, inor- 

I al and intellectual characteristics, bj the pre- 
vailing frenzy. 

These phenomena, which at first excited in- 
'iiation. grief, and amazement, in the course 
of time ceased to surprise, and Ik-< nine subjects 
of merriment. Among oursches we specu- 

: lated jocosely an to who would "go under" 

i next ; and in the privacy of our own souU en- 
tertained the question, whether it was the world 
around us or oursches that was mad. 

It is useful, (tcrhaps, but not the 1cm humili- 
ating to human pride, to test the depth nnd 
power of individual principle and will, to as- 
certain precisely for how many day* and hours 
one s Itest founded opinion* and most positive 
conviction* will maintain themselves unsupport- 
ed against the current of society ami the men- 

I mm of power. From the observation* of these 
few month-. I have become convinced that no 
amount of clear conviction, rectitude of pur- 
pose, or moral heroism can long maintain a 
pa*»ivc defense against the assault* of an active 
and firry rnthu»ia*m. < Organization muM meet 
organ i tat 1041 ; passion blase out again* t passion ; 
the audacious and unscrupulous spirit of revo- 
lution must he counteracted by a spirit a* hold 
and remorseless as iuedf. The idea is ex- 

I prcsseu witn more j*>mi anu orcviiy in tne pop- 
ular epigram. "Mine must tight the Devil with 

The National Government hnd thu* far h»«t 

every thing by its teui|>oruing and conciliatory 

I |*dicy. The c onar native and deprecatory Un- 
ionism of JerTrrson and Lower Virginia gener- 

1 ally was by this time virtually dead. The Se- 
<c««inni»ts had juttifird their I toasts, and now 

' owned the soul*, hodici, and estates of the Into 
I'uion majority by as absolute a tenure as that 
by which they held their African hond»mcn. 
It was a dcs|M»ti»m, moral, social, nnd |»olitical, 
the roo*t absolute that was ever seen or con- 

I reived of. As time jia**ed it wa* interesting 
nnd amuning to gather up the arguments, mo- 

I lives, plans, reasons, and hopes u|*>n which 
men based snd justified their action. Hie ex- 
pressions of the rank and file rarely reached 
■•evoiul ilic commonplace and indefinite gai>ole 
about " Southern rights,** "Our *lavc proper- 
ty, " "Sacred soil," "Virginia i* gone out," 
•■ No right to ciK-ree n State," 14 Damned aboli- 
tionists," and such other catch -word* and 
phrases as had been furnished by their adroit 
ami subtle leaders. A* many of these fellow* 
were neither native Virginian* nor even native 
Americans, and most of them entirely innocent 
of the crime of slave-owning, it i» to be *op- 
posed that they had but n dim comprehcti*ion 
of the significance of these phrases; yet they 
were not the less zealous for that. 

A more knowing class would inform you that 
the United States Government had become ut- 
terly corrupt, rotten to the core, and was hast- 
ening with fearful rapidity toward anarchy and 
agrarianism. The South, to preserve her puri- 
ty and vitality, must separate herself from this 
foul body. You might answer that the Gov- 


ernment had worked 
well enough when pure 
and able men directed 
it ; and if of late years 
it had become corrupt 
and feeble (a truth in 
which I fully concur- 
red), had it not deteri- 
orated under the man- 
agement of the very 
men who now appear- 
ed as the self- consti- 
tuted founders of a 
Southern Confedera- 
cy? But the experi- 
ment of popular gov- 
ernment is a failure. 
It has been tried and 
found wanting. The 
extension of popular 
rights, universal suf- 
frage, elective judicia- 
ry, and all similar con- 
cessions to the great 
popular whale must be 
withdrawn. This could 
only be done by the 
secession and separ- 
ate nationality of the 
South. We will estab- 
lish there "a govern- 
ment of broadcloth and 
brains." This, I be- 
lieve, was a character- 
istic epithet invented 

by Senator Wigfall, and was usually repeated 
sotto voce, emphasized by a complaisant glance 
at the speaker's own coat, and a significant 
touch with the forefinger upon his frontal 
sinus. It might again be remarked that such 
declarations, coming from men who had at- 
tained power and place by asserting the most 
extreme Democratic ideas, must convince the 
country that they were either grossly incom- 
petent as statesmen — having labored so long 
under a delusion — or that they were hypo- 
crites, utterly unworthy of confidence. They 
must per force accept one or the other horn of 
this dilemma. Moreover, how is this govern- 
ing body of apicTOL to be designated ? The 
vast wealth which is to inundate the South six 
months after a proposed date will enable every 
man to wear broadcloth ad libitum ; but how is 
the question of brains to be settled ? — by ac- 
cepting a man's own estimate, or by turning 
him over to a Committee of Congress ? 

"Pish!" exclaims our impatient interlocu- 
tor, "all these details will be arranged after- 
ward. The plan is, that no man shall be recog- 
nized as a gentleman or have a voice in the 
government who does not own a nigger." 

"One poor nigger! — Bah! — that will be a 
cheap entrance-fee into your House of Peers, 
scarcely equal to the old property qualification 
which these same gentlemen were so eager to 
abolish ten years ago. " 


"Let us put the qualification up to twenty 
negroes, or a hundred, if you like." 

"Any arrangement will suit, my friend, so 
that you and I are of the anointed." 

A third saw in the Confederacy the realiza- 
tion of an idea such as none but the brain of a 
Southern statesman could conceive. An as- 
semblage of independent sovereignties, form- 
ing a national league, so nicely and delicately 
adjusted that while each State should have the 
right to nullify, veto, and despise the decrees 
of the central power and secede from it at 
pleasure, at the same time the combination 
would be powerful enough to overawe Yankee- 
dom, enforce alliances with France and En- 
gland, annex Cuba and Mexico, reopen the 
slave-trade, raise cotton, and bully the world. 

The next fellow you met was cock-a-hoop 
for a monarchy — elective or hereditary, it didn't 
matter. Popular rights was a humbug. The 
insolence and ignorance of the masses had 
become insufferable; "ol ttoTJiol — oi ica/col." 
State Sovereignty was also a humbug — a syno- 
nym of anarchy, best illustrated by the fate of 
the Kilkenny cats. State lines were to be 
abolished, and absolute centralization estab- 
lished under a king — ay, call him a king, and 
let him wear a crown. " When a government 
fails for want of power to sustain itself, falls 
into disintegration from excess of the Demo- 
cratic idea of local and individual independ- 



that the great end (whatever it night be) would 
he accomplished without a serious war. A 
strong political party in the North «:c> ) ledged 
; ( > acquiescence- in the mov» inent ; the c» miner- 
rial interests ot* the Free Stale- \\ouhl render 
them iUitv to war; the modern Samson, 
whose hair was cotton (Sen Island growth, 
long fibre . would untiol th« in a> lie would 

gland ami 
uil a long 

done nm to 

encc, to what possible end can a revolution 
lead if not to establish principles the opposite 
of those which h ive cau>cd it } " 

"There is philosophy in what yon say, my 
neighbor, but how is your kingdom to be estab- 
lished ?" 

"We have the power already in our hand-, 
and the men — " 

"The monarch, the court, and ulfttoereq 
arc doubtless raftdj; but where are your Mil. 
jects? Can you convert the hereditary free- 
man of live generation;} into serfs by a simple 
edict r 

"Yes. They have not so far to go as you 
might suppose. " 

To those familiar with the working* of polit- 
ical power in the Southern States, these as- 
sertions will hardlv appear rash or unfounded 

Again, those who had large interest* in the drentn* of unbounded wealth. pomp, luxury, 
.slave-breeding States, f.-arnu' the d« j r. . iati-«n and innumerable negt or s; w hile n e the 
of their peculiar wares, did not admit the / 
rican *lave trade into tle ir plans. The cott< 
planters reveled in visions of tree trade in 
all the world ; while it was confidently |»r 
claimed that under a tnritl*. high enough to pr 
hibit Yankee coui|»ct it urn. Vitgitiin nnd I 
other Border States would grow- up *a»t mnn 

factnring interest!*, and Uichmond would in a the r xpounder'* 
few years rival Ilirmingham. Utrd ml the sani 

Many were stdl sanguine enough to believe J of the Confcdera 

A tjuonda 
of happv ntc 

the rest of (he world. In short, 
France could not nnd would not 
w nr — they were pledged. 

The Confederacy then was an 
fact. All thnt remnined to be 
complete the arrangement of details, nboul 
which every body differed radically nnd irre- 
concilably . and to portion out the honor* ami 

ar of the m-w m 
nmcd. and it* fj 
• ' of it« nMtin 

nment . a plan w hu h. while it te< 

* crv 
•d it 

undrr the t 
change woi 
body. Iftfa 
was in anv 


**e»enr white mnn would 
i Innd nnd nigger*, " while 
en able to |«o«m*m either 
•icrnmelit, he thought the 

I wn* unable to pen en c 

Ilmcath thii troth of excitement and 
hallucination there wa» a solid basin of sin- 
cere and educated opinion. The dogma of 
independent State Sovereignty, in its full- 

a candidate job the rEEXAGE. 

South and elsewhere. The traditional 
pride of the Virginian rendered his mind 
a < on^eniai son ior iih iinu»mi 'ii oi iiji 
plant of 1< •< al grow th. Its root - hud struck 
deep and its branches overshadowed the 
land. From n mere political dogma it hud 
de\< lojM-d into a j>crvading social, I might 
almost say religions, sentiment. 

Many who denied the expediency of Se- 
cession accepted its accomplishment, nnd 
prepared with heavy hearts to maintain it 
at all hazards. Many who with prophetic 
h re-a-.v the impending destruction 



armed their souls with fortitude to meet it in 
the name of Virginia. Many who denied the 
justice of Secession and abhorred its leaders 
shrunk from the idea of fratricidal war, and 
bowed in acquiescence to a power which de- 
manded blood, exile, or submission. Many 
continued to protest until their sons drew the 
sword and their daughters wore the colors of 
the Confederacy. It then appeared there were 
no Brutuses in Virginia. Perhaps it is for- 
tunate for society that men of that type are 

While there were still a few men found who 
stubbornly struggled against the sweeping cur- 
rent, the women of all ages and conditions 
threw themselves into it without hesitation or 
reserve. Their voluble tongues discussed the 
great question as rationally and philosophically 
as might be expected under the circumstances, 
while their nimble fingers aided more intelli- 
gently in solving the problem of clothing and 
equipping the hastily levied defenders of " God's 
glory and Southern rights." 


Sewing societies were organized, and delicate 
hands which had never before engaged in ruder 
labor than the hemming of a ruffle now bled 
in the strife with gray jeans and tent cloth. 
Haversacks, knapsacks, caps, jackets, and tents 
were manufactured by hundreds and dozens. 
The gift most in vogue from a young lady to 
her favored knight was a head-dress imitated 
from those worn by the British troops in India 
and called a Havelock. Laden with musket, 
sabre, pistol, and bowie-knife, no youth consid- 
ered his armament complete unless he had one 
of these silly clouts stretched over his hat. Woe 
to the youth who did not need a Havelock; 
who, owing to natural indisposition or the pru- 
dent counsel of a father or a friend, hesitated 
to join the army of the South. The curse of 
Clan Alpin on those who should prove recreant 
to the sign of the fiery cross was mere dra- 
matic noise compared with the curse that 
blighted his soul. His schoolmates and com- 
panions who had already donned "the gray" 
scarce concealed their scorn. His sisters, ral- 
lied, reproached, and pouted, blushing to ac- 

knowledge his ignominy. His Jeannette, late- 
ly so tender and loving, now refused his hand 
in the dance, and, passing him with nose in air, 
bestowed her smiles and her bouquet upon some 
gallant rival with belt and buttons. Day after 
day he saw the baskets loaded with choice 
viands, roasted fowls, pickles, cakes, and potted 
sweetmeats, but not for him. Wherever he 
went there was a braiding of caps and coats, 
a gathering of flowers and weaving of wreaths, 
but none for him — no scented and embroidered 
handkerchiefs waved from carriage-windows as 
he rode by. The genial flood of social sym- 
pathy upon which he had hitherto floated so 
blandly had left him stranded on the icy shore. 
Then come the cheering regiments with their 
drums and banners, the snorting squadrons of 
glossy prancing steeds, the jingling of knightly 
spurs, the stirring blast of the trumpets. There 
they went — companionship, love, life, glory, all 
sweeping by to Harper's Perry ! 

Alas ! poor boy, what sense of duty or pru- 
dent counsels could hold him in the whirl of 
this moral maelstrom ? What did he care for 
the vague terror of an indictment for treason, 
or the misty doctrine of Federal supremacy ? 
What did he know of nationality beyond the 
circle of friends and kindred ? What w r as his 
sneaking, apologetic, unsympathetic life worth 
after all ? The very bondsman who held his 
horse as he mounted for his morning ride 
seemed to reproach him, as, touching his hat, 
he remarks, suggestively, " Young master, dis 
hoss of yourn is mighty proud and mettlesome 
— he would look fine in the cavalry." Very 
well ; in two days — more or less — you might 
see young master in the cavalry, prancing gal- 
lantly with the rest of them, a Havelock flapping 
about his ears, spurs jingling on his heels, the 
light of manhood rekindled in his eye, and a 
fresh posy in his button-hole, atoning for his 
former hesitancy by distinguished zeal in the 
great cause. 

But according to my judgment the greater 
number of these young volunteers were moved 
neither by social pressure nor political preju- 
dice. The all-pervading love of adventure and 
fighting instincts were the most successful re- 
cruiting officers of the occasion. For they had 
heard of battles, and had longed to follow to 
the field some warlike lord — so at the first roll 
of the drum they rushed cheerily from school- 
house and office, counter and work-shop, field 
and fireside, earnest, eager, reckless fellows, 
marching with a free and vigorous step, sitting 
their horses like wild Pawnees, most admirable 
material for a rebellion, just as good soldiers 
for the Government if perchance the rub-a-dub 
of the Union drums had first aroused their mar- 
tial ardor. 

Looming up behind and above this cloud of 
anarchic passion one can observe the powers that 
have assumed to direct the storm. The inner 
circle composed of the so-called statesmen of 
the South — the Lucifers of the republic — some 
engaged in devising curbs and bridles for this 


iiakpkks m:\v monthly macazink. 

wild tornado, upon which they hoped to ride, 
but which has already begun to alarm than ; 
others luxuriating in visions of prospective 
empire, so vast and dazzling that the greatness 
of their present crime appears as nothing in 
comparison. They may be fairly liken. «1 t<> a 
boat's crew of adventurers drifting in the cur- 
rent of the upper Niagara — some with anxious 
faces hold the tiller, tug at the ropes, and turn 
the sails, while others with cheery shunt point 
to the iridescent clouds that tloat over the v c: gc 
of the impending cataract. 

As the season advanced the military prepa- 
rations on cither side approached completion, 
and the air was filled with rumors of move- 
ments from every quarter. Bridge-burning on 
the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad had already 
commenced, and a skirmishing warfare iuiti 
ated all along the line of the upper !'.•:« -mar 
between picket guards and indc|»ciidcut zeal 
ots, who expended much ammunition and \ 
or in firing at each other across tho river. 
During the three or four weeks that this fight- 
ing continued I never heard of any one being 
hurt on the Virginia hide, but, if any rrhan. .■ 
can be placed on the reports brought into 
('harlestow n, the (daughter . :i the Maryland 
bank must have been prodigious. 

Although the leader* at Harper'-. Kerry kept 
their own counsel, their preparations afforded 
unmistakable evidence that they would evac u- 
ate that place on the first advance of the na- 
tional troops. What was char to a military 
eye was so little credited by the jxople of 
( harlestow n that those were bitterly denounced 
and menaced with arrest who ventured to ex 
press the opinion that Hurler * Kerry would 
not be held. A prominent and eccentric p*di 
tician hail once ( ailed it the " Tlicrmopvhs of 
America," and thereafter the people of the vi 
cinity regarded Harper's Kerry a» the impr. 
nable bulwark of the Mate and the Southern 
cause. So on the afternoon of the 14th of 
dune, when the advanced brigade of Johnston* 
army passed through ('harlestow n, autioum mg 
that the evacuation had actually commenced, 
there was the greatest consternation among 
the Secessionists, and a ( one -ponding eleva- 
tion of spirits among the loyal. 

June lit. — To-day the main body of .John- 
ston's army passed through town, moving by 
the turnpike toward Winchester. I 
consisted of fourteen regiments or organiza- 
tions of infantry, twenty-three pieces of artil- 
lery, and about six hundred cavalry under Col- 
onel J. E. B. Stuart, with a train of two hun- 
dred and forty wagons. Including the brigade 
which passed yesterday, the whole numbered 
about twelve thousand men. The day was in- 
tensely hot and the roads dusty. The troops 
moved so deliberately that the column seemed 
to crawl rather than march. The halts were 
also very frequent and long continued, so that 
their passage through the village occupied the 
whole day. 

This easy marching gave the army a fair op- 

portunity of testing the hitherto unfathomable 
hospitality of this village. During the entire 
day the whole population, white and black, de- 
voted themselves to cooking and serving the 
soldiers. ( >t the ten or twelve thousand men 
that passed, covered with dust and devoured 
with the chronic hunger and thirst of matching 
armies no man asked for meat, drink, or re 
freshinent of any kind which was not cheerful 
ly and gratuitously furnished him. The houses 
were thronged with officers, the curb-stones 
lined with .soldi. - i. -sting under the shade 
trees, while men, women, and children 'were 
circulating among them .'tiering refreshments 
to all. For that day, at least, all reincmbram < 
of poh 1 1. a I strife and div imoii of sentiment was 
• rUd m the humane joy of ministering to 
the hungry wax farer. Half the available young 
men of the county were marching with the 
army, and there was m>t a mothe r, wife, sister, 
ol bright eyed child whose hospitable service- 
was not stimulated through the weary hours 
by the thought of a son. husband, brother, or 
father who had donned the gray and won 
marching to an uncertain future ; not one 
wh«»M* he art did Hot sue II with the vo|.elc»» 
prayer, "May tho bread which I give to tin 
stranger be returned to my dear one when he 
ahall hare need ! " 

By sunset the army wan gone ami the town 
quiet. They en. .impel for the night on Bui 
Skin Hun. alnuit four miles on the road towar.. 

1 » 

I h 

lerial of this army. Tho infantry, despite it 
rags nn. I dust, had a dangerous look. The 
regiment* from tho (iulf States were apparent 
ly of pic ked men. The Tenth (icorgia ( 1 think 
it was), numbering cloven hundred, was the- 
ft neat -looking regiment I ever saw. Looking 
along the line mu were struck with tho tiui 
forroitT of «i/e and height, all healthy, athletic 
men, between the ages of twenty-five and thir- 
IV live. In the See olid Virginia and Firsl 
.Maryland regiments there ap|>carcd, on the 
contrary, to U« many boys under size and uu- 
uer military ago. 

Borh regiment was followed by a gang of 
i.' .•■ • s.-r\. mts all Ix-aring arms of some kind, 
and apjiarcntly as much interested in the cause 
as tho whites. Men roust bo totally blinded 
by paaaion not to perceive the sinister signifi- 
. aii'-e of this servile- armament. Is it to U 
cxjh.m ted that alter having become familiarized 
with the license of camps and the excitement of 
campaigning thai these men will resume, their 
former lives of rural simplicity and contented 
bondage? Will the hand that has acquired the 
usage of pistol and sabre quietly take up the 
shovel and the hoe again at the bidding of B 
master ? This seem- only an example of the 
general fatuity — a war instituted ostensibly in 
defense of negro slavery, against the only pow er 
on earth which had the will and ability to insure 
its protection — a war which must inevitably de- 
stroy the institution it professes to defend. 



Johnston's artillery impressed me as being 
inferior both in guns and equipment ; and it 
was manned chiefly by raw volunteers, who had 
had so far very little experience in handling the 
pieces. Pendleton's Battery was reputed the 
best drilled in the command. The cavalry, 
under Colonel J. E. P>. Stuart, was admirably 
mounted, and better equipped according to its 
needs than any other arm. It was composed 
almost entirely of volunteers from the rural 
gentry and independent landholders of the 
country, who furnished their own horses, arms, 
and accoutrements. They generally appear- 
ed on picked animals, and armed with a great- 
er variety of ordnance stores than was either 
needful or convenient — not omitting the Have- 
lock oblige. These young fellows were bold 
and dashing riders, good shots, full of spirit 
and emulation, and promised, with experience 
and iron discipline, to constitute a formidable 
body of cavalry. The habits and opinions of 
the times, however, had developed in them that 
exaggerated individuality which would render 
the strict enforcement of discipline almost im- 
possible, and they already had begun to exhibit 
decided Cossack tendencies. 

General Johnston himself appeared in plain 
citizen's dress, with common round hat, his de- 
portment and manner altogether as unostenta- 
tious as his dress. His person seemed to be 
rather under the medium size, erect, vigorous, 
with a military whisker and a handsome face. 
It required no imagination, however, to see 
through this unimposing exterior the leading 
attributes which the world characterizes as sol- 

As the army broke camp at Harper's Ferry 
the railroad bridge over the Potomac was blown 
up and burned. The wooden bridge at Shep- 
herdstown was burned the night previous. Those 
at Berlin and Point of Rocks went several days 
before, as did the viaducts at Opequan and 

As we sat upon the porch enjoying the even- 
ing coolness a squad of infantry, which had 
been on picket duty somewhere, was passing 
by to overtake its regiment. They were talk- 
ing earnestly among themselves, roundly damn- 
ing their bad luck, and accusing certain officers 
of favoritism. "If," said one, "there is a 
bridge to be burned, or shops to be blown up, 
or any other fun going on, we are sent out on 
picket, and are never allowed a chance. " This 
was voted a grievous wrong, and their further 
murmurings died away in the distance. It was 
a very fair exhibit of the animus which led 
many of these young patriots into the rebellion. 

June 16, Sunday. — Accompanied by some 
friends I visited Harper's Ferry to-day, hop- 
ing to find it occupied by the Union troops. 
On Bolivar Heights we found seven heavy guns 
which had been abandoned, the pieces spiked 
and choked, the carriages burned, and a quan- 
tity of ammunition scattered over the hill-side. 
The whole place was in a state of filthy deso- 
lation. A few meagre mountaineers were stroll- 

ing about to see what they could pick up, while 
hogs, dogs, and buzzards were disputing over 
the offal of the recent camps. 

The bridge over the Potomac was gone, the 
debris still burning where it had fallen between 
the piers. The machinery from the armory, 
except some very heavy pieces, was also gone — 
sent to Richmond, I was told, and followed by 
a number of the artisans with their families. 

Some of those who had taken refuge in Mary- 
land during the rebel occupation were already 
returning in boats to rejoin their families, who 
awaited them at the landing in Harper's Ferry. 
A considerable number of men, women, and 
children were collected, Avhen a young girl came 
running at full speed, and, all rosy and fluster- 
ed, whispered some startling tidings. There 
was a sudden scattering of the adult males who 
had recently landed, some disappearing in ad- 
jacent sewers and cellars, while others hastily 
took the boats and paddled back to Maryland. 

It had been rumored that Ashby's cavalry 
had appeared on Bolivar Heights ; but this, it 
seems, was without foundation. Disappointed 
at not finding the National army here we re- 
turned home to Charlestown. Here we heard 
that Patterson's army had crossed the Potomac 
at Williamsport, and was advancing on Mar- 
tinsburg, while Johnston had suddenly wheeled 
about at Bunker's Hill, and was hurrying to at- 
tack the Federals on the Martinsburg turnpike. 

June 17. — The news of yesterday being con- 
firmed by couriers this morning, I mounted my 
horse and rode to Martinsburg, hoping to wit- 
ness the battle, and feeling confident of the de- 
feat of the rebels. During my ride of sixteen 
miles I did not meet a human being on the 
roads, generally much frequented. When in 
sight of Martinsburg I met some market peo- 
ple coming out who informed me that the Unit- 
ed States army was within two miles of town 
advancing, and the Southern army had just 
passed through to meet them. Expecting at 
each moment to hear the opening cannon, I ac- 
celerated my movements, and on entering the 
main street perceived it was deserted, and the 
houses closed. A few moments after I saw a 
body of Confederate cavalry, with a splendid 
tri-barred flag, wheel in from the Winchester 
road, and push rapidly in the direction of Will- 
iamsport. A friend here informed me that 
the National army was still reported at Falling 
Water, eight miles distant, while Johnston with 
his main body lay between Bunker Hill and 
Winchester. The only rebel troops which had 
yet appeared in Martinsburg were the cavalry 1 
had seen — a body about three hundred and 
fifty strong under Stuart, which had gone for- 
ward to reconnoitre. Betwixt hope and impa- 
tience the evening passed away, and we went 
to bed at length, expecting to find the town 
occupied by the National army on awakening. 

Junel%. — Every thing quiet as the grave last 
night. I walked up street, and found the cit- 
izens in a state of great excitement, with vary- 
ing reports from the front. Country folks who 

1 1 i 


had seen them rep- 
resented the Federal 
hosts as guttering 
with Assyrian splen- 
dor, covering the 
whole land with their 
nam hers. Some af- 
firmed that they were 
sweeping crops and 
dwellings from the 
face of the earth, 
sparing neither age 
nor sex. While oth- 
ers g ive iin>rc re Ir 
sonahle accounts, in- 
sisting tli-y 
treated the inhahit- 
ants with great ei\ il- 
ity and paid for all 
they took. The Un- 
ion people were on 
the streets and ut 
the windows, hungry 
with impat ienee, and 
scarcely ahle to re 
-train themselves in 
presence of the < '< >n - 
federate troop t-. 
some srpiadsof whom 
still occupied the 
town. The feeling 
among the women 
was intense, as the 
young men of M ir- 
tinshurg were ahont 
equ dly di\ ide I !»■■ 
tween the adverse 

Toward mid-day 
came the astounding 
and mortifv ine; intel- 
ligence that the l"n- 
ion army was falling 
hack. An hour later 
tidings came that 
they were actually 
recro>sini; at Will- 
iamsport. About 
sunset Colonel Stu- 
art with his cavalry 
returned, reporting 
that they had swept the Yankee invader* from 
the sacred soil. 

Bewildered and humiliated I returned to the 
house of my friends. As we stood upon the 
sidewalk the triumphant troop rode hv. and tin- 
political status of the family heing a matter of 
puhlic notoriety, three cheers for Jeff" Davis 
were called and given with unction. The col- 
umn having reached the end of the street coun- 
termarched, and on repassing gave three awful 
groans for Abe Lincoln. It was <ptite evident 
that the troop had made an unnece^sarv detour 
and indulged in this yelping demonstration fqr 
the express purpose of insulting the loyalty of 
the venerable patriot around whom we were 

:-cd. Then in hi* eighty-second year, the 
high MH-ia! po*ition, stainless character, and 
comprehensive intellect of PttUF C. I'emm I 
To* had hitherto commanded the rcsj*cct and 
reverence of all who approached him. If the 
chhsirk Colonel Stuart, who rode at the head 
of this tn*>p, could have witnessed the serene 
smile, or have heard the expression of benig- 
nant pity which this coarse demonstration 
elicited, I will do him the justice to believe he 
would have blushed. 

To the rest of us it was a dark closing to a 
day which had dawned so hopefully ; but we 
swallowed the dirt, which was our portion I 
trust, with becoming resignation, and then, 



with undying faith in the speedy reassertion of 
Federal supremacy over our land, we turned 
into the house and spent the remainder of the 
evening at a cheerful game of backgammon. 

June 19. — I returned to my family at Charles- 
town. While these exciting events occupied 
the public mind certain civic humanitarians 
were carrying on an entertaining and some- 
what peculiar by-play in Jefferson. It was re- 
ported that during the halt of the army on Bull 
Skin Run three of the soldiers had died, and 
were buried by their comrades in a very hasty 
manner. Indeed some visitors from the ad- 
joining county of Clarke said this sacred office 
had been so slightingly performed that portions 
of the bodies were visible above ground, and 
they would in all likelihood become 1 a prey to 
hogs and dogs if the neglect was not speedily 
remedied. This story circulated, and, to the 
honor of the community, caused a great deal of 
horror and some indignation ; but as the weather 
was suffocating, and it was nobody's especial 
business, nothing was done. The Berryvillians 
were disgusted, and insisted that if the people 
of Jefferson had no more respect for themselves 
than to suffer this stain upon their humanity, 
the people of Clarke would invade their county 
sovereignty and give decent burial to the patriot 
soldiers. The Jeffersonians yawned and inti- 
mated that their neighbors were meddlesome. 
These retorted by saying that people who would 
leave the bodies of their defenders a prey to 
swine were not much better than Abolitionists 
and Yankees. 

Aroused at length, the Jeffersonians took 
immediate steps to vindicate themselves from 
so foul an imputation. Three neat coffins, with 
decent grave-clothes, were forthwith prepared 
and placed in a light wagon. The undertaker, 
grave-digger, and clergyman mounted beside 
them, departed to fulfill their worthy mission. 
The heat was intense, the dust suffocating, but 
the missionaries were resolute. Arriving in 
the vicinity of the late encampment they in- 
quired at all the farm-houses for information 
concerning the locality of the bodies, but to 
their surprise no one could tell them precisely. 
The greater part of the day was consumed in 
going from house to house, vainly seeking for 
some one who could guide them to the spot. 
Every body had heard of the story, and every 
body had some new circumstance of horror to 
add to it. They visited every grave-yard, pub- 
lic and private, within a circuit of several miles, 
without finding a grave under twenty years of 
age. Wearied, vexed, and somewhat mysti- 
fied they were on the point of giving up the 
search when, about sunset, an old negro told 
them he had seen the soldiers burying some- 
thing in a corn-field at the end of the meadow. 
Having a superstitious dread of dead people he 
had not dared to approach the place, but, stimu- 
lated by a fee, he led them to the spot. 

There, near the brook, they saw the fresh 
turned earth of three shallow graves, each 
marked by a rude stone at its head ; and there, | 

pitiful and revolting sight ! they beheld portions 
of the dead men's clothes appearing among the 
hastily turned clods. Men were not accus- 
tomed to such sights in those days. In solemn 
silence the coffins were lifted from the wagon, 
opened, and laid in order side by side. Three 
decent graves were dug with much toil and 
sweat, the old negro assisting. These arrange- 
ments completed, the attendants drew near with 
pick and shovel to exhume the bodies. The 
moment was impressive and painful. The min- 
ister took off his hat and stood with book in 
hand, prepared to read the Burial-Service, pre- 
faced by some extemporaneous remarks which 
he had thought over as they rode along, setting 
forth the awfulness of death under circum- 
stances like the present. A few turns of pick 
and shovel revealed, not three festering corpses, 
but three empty Confederate uniforms, ragged, 
filthy, and all alive. An exclamation of sur- 
prise, a gesture of disgust, and the coffins were 
quickly hustled into the wagon, and the burial 
party trotted back to Charlestown ; not sadder, 
perhaps, but wiser men than they had gone 
forth in the morning. 

The Secessionists perceiving that the National 
troops hesitated to advance, and that Johnston's 
retrograde from Harper's Ferry was not to be 
looked upon as a retreat, again took heart and 
became more offensive than ever in their de- 
monstrations. Wearied and disgusted with the 
tardy progress of events, I determined to return 
with my family to the Berkeley Springs. The 
accustomed mode of travel by the Baltimore 
and Ohio Railroad was now completely broken 
up, and a tedious trip of two days by the ordi- 
nary country roads was before us. 

On the 20th of June we started for Martins- 
burg. I on horseback, my family in a carriage 
under the guardianship of a friend Avho kindly 
volunteered to accompany us, it being considered 
unsafe to trust a servant alone with the horses 
in these troublesome and uncertain times. As 
we approached Martinsburg late in the afternoon 
we heard a strange singing and screaming in 
the air which resembled the notes of a gigantic 
JEolian. These sounds grew more distinct and 
definite as we advanced, and still nearer the town 
we perceived immense columns of black smoke 
rolling up between us and the setting sun, and 
tinging the whole landscape with a coppery 
hue. As these clouds rose from the direction 
of the railroad shops it was easy to imagine 
their origin ; but the accompanying sounds 
were unaccountable, until, turning into one of 
the lower streets of the town, a scene was sud- 
denly presented to us which more resembled a 
dream of Dante's Inferno than an exhibition 
of real life. 

Jackson's brigade were performing a grand 
" auto da fe" upon the rolling-stock of the Bal- 
timore and Ohio Railroad. The fore-ground 
of the picture was occupied by a ruin of classic 
form and beauty — that of the pillared viaduct 
which had been destroyed some weeks before. 
On the open space in front of the work-shops 



stood, ranged Upon the 
tnnks, between forty 
and fifty looOMOtlfM 

l-oa-tin^ :iiin<l-[ the 
flames of I thousand 
cords of wood. di»trih- 
nted, refreshed, and 
stirred up continually 
bv a brigade of wild 
Confederates. The 
roeks, hills, and houses 
Vrhfoh surrounded the 
place of execution 
were crowded by many 
hundred spectator*, 
the old men, wive*. 

and children of th 

who had dc|»cndod on 
the road for their sub- 

Twilight was ap- 
proaching, and as tic- 
lurid light of the tires 
prevailed the aspect of 
the sceno grew still 
more unearthly. Th<> 
rebel soldier*, with 
their bronzed face*, 
raggedly picturesque 
costume*, and fiend 
ish activity, were not 
unworthy representa- 
tives of the familiar* 
of Beelzebub. They 
worked in silence Ion, 
with the sullen nnd 
desperate look of men 
who were executing 
the work "f Kate rath- 
er than their own will. 
Motionless and mute 
the groups of citizens 
looked on, terror- 
stricken, yet every pal- 
lid face lowering with 
dumhexeeration. The 
locomotive*, as the 
flames licked their iron 
bodies, and the heated 
air rushed through th j 
stcam-fwhistles, despite 

of mechanism and natural philosophy, impressed I season, and onr curtain lew windows looked to- 
the spectator with the idea that they were liv- ward the railroad. All night long the red light 



ing victims, who moaned and shrieked with an 
agony surpassing human comprehension. It 
was a fitting overture to the Great Drama of the 
nineteenth century, tvpifving coming events. 
A frantic war of barbaric pride, ignorance, and 
passion against the empire of art, industry, and 

At our house we found a servant who had 
been left in occupancy, and in due time a com- 
fortable supper was spread for us. V, 
too much excited to cat, and after the pretense 
of a meal hurried to bed. To bed, but not to 
sleep. The house had been dismantled for the 

glared and flirkrred on the wall*, nnd. audited 
t\ vuii -*omnolcnt fancier painted terrible and 
prophetic picture* in tints of fire and blood. 
All night long the tortured Leviathan* sung in 
our ear* their shuddering anthems of woe. 

Jm* 21. — The dawn of morning dispelled 
these distempered f.ineies, but brought with it 
no reviving cheerfulness. Between dreams 
and realities there wa* not so much difference 
after all. On the railroad we could see the 
wilted and di»< olorcd bodies of the locomotives 
lying amid«t the smoke and ashes of their fu- 
neral pyres. Their wailing* had cea s e d, and 



the general feeling of relief thereat was ex- 
pressed by one of the negroes, who thanked 
God they were "out of their misery." 

I had resolved on my own account not to 
ask any favors from the rebel head-quarters, 
but to take the road and run risks of getting 
through without a passport. My friend, who 
expected to return to Charlestown with the 
carriage, fearing that he might be separated 
from his family by crossing the lines, insisted 
that he would go no further unless he had a 
permit to pass and return with the carriage. 
Consequently I started out after breakfast to 
find Jackson's quarters, and, following direc- 
tions received from stragglers, presently found 
myself in a piece of wood about half a mile in 
the rear of our house. Here I found the bri- 
gade en bivouac, sleeping in line behind their 
stacked arms. Those that were awake had a 
jaded, frowzy look, and such as I conversed 
with did not seem to be in good spirits. The 
General Head-quarters was not here, but in a 
house nearly a mile distant. Arrived there, I 
stated my wishes to the Adjutant General, and 
the permit was given without difficulty. While 
talking with this officer, Avho was an acquaint- 
ance, a man came out of an adjoining room, 
and calling him aside conversed in an under- 
tone. This person, notwithstanding the ex- 
treme heat, wore a heavy military over-coat 
and a plain slouched hat. A stern, sun-burnt 
face, a short black beard, crisped and grizzled 
slightly, a serious and resolute air, were the 
only external characteristics that impressed 
themselves on my memory during the few mo- 
ments that I scanned the rebel General — he 
that was afterward the famous StonewallJack- 

Friday, June 21. — We v took the road for 
Berkeley Springs. The old road, once so fa- 
miliar and busy at this season, was now lonely 
and desolate. Superseded as a fashionable 
highway by the railroad, it had for some years 
fallen into disuse, and we found many of the 
old farm-houses and stopping-places deserted. 

At Tibkenzy's Branch we made our mid-day 
halt to rest our overheated animals and refresh 
ourselves from the lunch-basket. We took our 
meal beside a cool spring bubbling from the 
rocks beneath the shade of some spreading 
sycamores. The Blue Mountains were visible 
in every direction, and we breathed the air 
with a sense of freedom which we had not ex- 
perienced for many days, while the unharnessed 
horses, lately so hot and jaded, rolled in the 
sand and kicked up their heels with a jollity 
entirely in unison with our thoughts and feel- 

After an hour or two of refreshing repose 
we resumed our journey. As we drew near 
our destination we were a good deal surprised 
to meet a number of men, women, and chil- 
dren in holiday attire returning to their homes 
in the hills. On Sunday such an exhibition 
would have been nothing unusual, but as it 
was Friday it indicated some extraordinary 

event. The idea of a wedding was suggested. 
But not on a Friday — that was too serious a 
joke. So we drew rein and stopped a troop 
of sallow-skinned, tawny-haired girls to inquire. 

"Why, to be sure, didn't we know?" replied 
one, with an expression of mingled pity and 
surprise at our ignorance. They had been to 
the hanging at Berkeley. We knew, of course, 
the Pennsylvanian that killed his wife and 
chopped her up with a corn-cutter. A short 
time after we passed the gallows, thanking 
Providence that this guardian of civilized so- 
ciety still exercised its functions within sight 
of our mountain home. 

At Berkeley we found our friends all well, 
and pleased with the accession to their social 
circle. Our news from the seat of war was 
eagerly discussed, and we heard in return in- 
teresting items from the free and loyal mount- 
ains. The change was absolutely delicious. 
We felt like persons escaping from an ill-ven- 
tilated, howling ward in Bedlam into the fresh 
air and coherent society. 

The loyal Virginians of the west had risen 
in arms to defend their Government, their 
homes, and their native land. They had de- 
clared the State Government lately engulfed 
in Confederate treason to be vacated and of 
no authority, and had established a loyal State 
Government based upon popular rights and the 
Constitution of the country. This movement 
centred at Wheeling, and was headed by Fran- 
cis H. Pierpont. We knew nothing of its de- 
tails ; but, amidst the chaos of twaddle, stulti- 
fication, treason, and timidity, it rose, the first 
act of clear, vigorous, and comprehensive states- 
manship to which the occasion had yet given 
birth. It was this movement which saved the 
nation ; and so it will be written when impar- 
tial Time shall have set his seal upon the rec- 
ords of History. 

It could not be expected, however, that our 
cheerful social circle would be left undisturbed 
in times so troubled and uncertain. Morgan 
County unfortunately occupied the corner of 
what might be called a double political and 
military frontier. On the north she touched 
Maryland, which was occupied by the United 
States forces, and her western boundary was 
formed by the mountains which were now the 
military and political line between loyal and 
rebellious Virginia. Thus claimed by all par- 
ties, accessible to all, to be harassed and plun- 
dered by all, it was impossible that either party 
could occupy or protect her. The people were 
almost universally opposed to Secession ; but 
the wretched blockheads who managed county 
affairs were almost to a man in the interest of 
the rebellion. From Winchester, the head- 
quarters of treason in the Valley, these people 
got their backing and authority, and used it in 
a manner which recalled the days of the Prus- 
sian conscript officers and the British press- 
gang. Troops rode over the county, pene- 
trating the most secluded nooks, conscripting 
men and pressing horses and forage in the 



n.niip of the 1 - . r, A large nnml-er 

of men of military age had nlrcady c neaped 
into Maryland and Penniyirauia, where Ibej 

found employment in the I'nitcd States annv 
or elsewhere. Thoae who were caught were 
handenfled <>r roped like Mom and driven to 

Winchester, "to fight for ilioir freedom," a* 
they phrased it. They volunteered .hecrfulh 
enough on arriving at the renden ous, nnd dc 
serted on the first opportunity. The morning 
report of the Morgan militia regiment at Wm- 
clicster mmally exhibited the following: OoV 
onel, 1 ; Lieut, teem - Colonel. I ; Major, I ; 
Adjutant, 1; Quarter - master nnd assistants, 
.'t ; Commissary and assistants, 2; Surgeon. I ; 
Chaplain, 1; Line <. Hirers. I.". ; rank and file, 
from 3 to la, according to the lin k of the con- 
script officers ami the state of the weather as 
favorable or unfavorable for desertion. 

These conscripting gang. oe. asionally came 
into the village, and one day I was warned b\ 
a friendly neighbor to be on my guard. A 
dozen or fifteen of these fellows, he said, were 
at his store drinking nnd planning my arrest. 
It seems that some persons, whom they had 
been harassing, had twitted them with coward 
ice, and dared them to conscript me. Thcv 
resolved to do so, and purchased a jug of 
whisky to steam up their courage to the point. 
I immediately went to my house and loaded my 
whole armory of guns and pistols, seven pieces, 
allowing sixteen shots. Mv wife, who observed 
these preparations, asked what was the matter? 
I replied by telling her to crawl under the bed 
if there was any firing. She said she would 
prefer to stand by and load the guns for me. 

I told her 1 rather ap- 
prehended there would 
be no o« iasion to use the 
1 resent charges. Hav- 
ing Bnfahed loading I 

laid my weapons in con- 
venient position*, for use, 
and sat down near the 
wmdou with a book in 
m\ hand. M\ w ife con- 
tinued her sewing, look- 
ing a little paler than 
usual perhaps, but other- 
wise emotionless. I ,1 d 
not rend to much advant- 
age, I am sure. At sun- 
M t. mv fellows having 
devoured all their \\ Lis 
ky. found it not miIM- 
i irntlv stimulating, and 
rmlc off \ idling and fir- 
ing their pieces in the 

I was seriously disap- 
pointed at this impot) in 
< om Iti'ion of the dav's 
* - excitement. Indignant 

At the manner ill w hi< h 

the I'nion men |K*miil 
ted themselves to |»e 
hunted, plundered, ami bound, I IiojkmI the 
conscript gnng would hn*c a Horded me, per- 
sonally, some justification f«>r a high-handed 
ami dei i»ne net that might ba\e served as all 

They were careful to afford no such oppor- 
tunity, even though I afterward threw myself 
in their way nnd lourtcd a collision. 1 should 
ha\e U«en n*hnmcd to hn\e sought n (piarrel 
with thcM* " heartless hi lids" but for the motive 


At night I always slept with doors and win- 
dows barred, and with my loaded weapons with- 
in reach. < Mi one occasion, about an hour after 
midnight, I was aroused by an alarming outcry 
of \ i Us and oaths mingled with the screams of 
women nnd children. The idea of midnight ar- 
rests immediately flashed upon me. Iff eooe- 
in, I \< I in u rut 1'cndleton of Martiii'luirg, had dis- 
tinguished himself in the late d. mention hv 
his firm nnd uncompromising opposition to Se- 
cession. He hnd persistently refused to recog- 
nize or acquiesce in it under any circumstances, 
and had bOOMM in consequence very obnoxious 
to the revolutionary fomcntcrs. When l>clow 
I had frequently heurd him menaced with ar- 
rest, and now supposed that a party had f<>\- 
lowed him to his retreat at Herk* lev. I hastily 
dressed, and. taking my double-barreled pit ee 
charged with sixteen buckshot in cadi barrel, 
went dfiwn into th<- street resolved to give the 
contents to the invaders if I did not find the 
party hopelessly numerous. Before going far 
I met an acquaintance aroused by the same 
noise, who informed me it was only a drunken 
row among the villagers. 



These incidents are re- 
corded as illustrating the 
daily routine of life on the 
Border. Each hour had 
its rumors and excite- 
ments, every night its 
strange alarms. 

One day the children 
were holding a tourna- 
ment, riding their stick 
horses and catching the 
ring on mimic lances. Ev- 
ery male child in Virginia 
is born with an innate idea 
in his head in the form of 
a colt, which grows with 
his growth until it be- 
comes a horse, which hob- 
by he rides from the cradle 
to the grave. Thus it is 
that the earliest sports of 
the children are chivalric. 
I was acting chief marshal, 
and the tournament was 
proceeding with due pomp 
and ceremony, Union 
flags adorned the arch 
where the ring was sus- 
pended, and "Sir Knight 
of the Union, " a chevalier 
of six summers, flaunting 

his Union badge, had just set his lance in 
rest for the charge when the martial clangor 
of fife and drum in the street announced the 
advent of some new excitement. A moment 
after several officers in rebel gray were added 
to the company of spectators in the court-yard 
where the lists were erected. Their presence 
did not check the sports. The " Knight of the 
Union" proclaimed with a trumpet voice, rode 
his career, and took the ring handsomety. The 
Union flags kept their places, the officers laugh- 
ed with the rest, and the tournament was pro- 
nounced a decided success. 

The party which had arrived was a sort of 
independent legion, consisting of about sixty 
infantry and thirty cavalry, under the com- 
mand of one Tom Edmondson, late a Member 
of the United States Congress, now holding a 
Colonel's commission from the Richmond gov- 
ernment. He seemed to be roving about with 
his command without any fixed military pur- 
pose, and actuated with a wild desire to do 
good generally (for the cause). The presence 
of this force at first chafed and irritated the 
Union sentiment of the place excessively. Ed- 
mondson made several arrests, and endeavored 
to frighten or persuade the villagers to take an 
oath of allegiance to the Confederacy. This 
was persistently refused, and he very judicious- 
ly waived the point. 

The day after his arrival a sergeant, with two 
men, came to my house, and, knocking author- 
itatively, demanded admittance. I thought the 
critical hour had arrived, and belting on my 
revolver went to open the door. The sergeant 


very civilly presented a politely-worded demand 
for my arms. I wrote a reply politely declin- 
ing to part with them, on the ground that I 
had purchased all the arms that were in my 
possession, and desired to keep them for my 
private use. The sergeant presently returned 
with a note of explanation and apology from 
Edmondson, saying he had made the demand 
on information that I had arms belonging prop- 
erly to the State. The subject was not alluded 
to afterward. 

These first difficulties over, I was relieved 
to find the invaders a very modest and harm- 
less company. The commander, finding him- 
self surrounded with adverse opinion so uni- 
versal and determined, did not think it pru- 
dent to attempt the coercive, but sought to 
attain his ends by persuasive means. The 
men were more orderly and inoffensive than 
could be believed. They bought a few sheep 
with orders on the Confederate treasury, took 
some horses on the same terms, picketed the 
roads so that we could not visit to Hancock to 
get Union news, but were otherwise not troub- 
lesome. Yet it is very wearing to rise up and 
lie down, to talk, eat, drink, and live, with the 
consciousness that you are at the mercy of an 
irresponsible armed powj^r, without adequate 
means of resistance or self-protection. Men 
do get accustomed to this state of things, I 
suppose •, but at Berkeley it Avas new to us, and 
we felt it grinding day by day. 

Some rumors of Patterson's movements 
reached us on the 3d of July, but altogether 
vague and uncertain. 



July 4. — Colonel Edmondson delivered a 
Fourth of July oration in the Methodist c hurch 
to-day. Curious to know how he would view 
the national anniversary from his present posi- 
tion I went with my wife to hear him. The 
oration was a political stump speech of four 
solid hours' duration. I listened for about an 
hour, and left the church in diagnat, having 
heard nothing but the flattest egotism, varied 
with violent abuse of Union men. ami clenched 
with the standing threats of confiscation, exile, 
and the gallows. 

My observations during the last three months 
had satisfied me as to the true character of the 
contest which was opening. To my mind it 

presented the simple choice between e Govern- 
ment and Anarchy. The idea "t" a Southern 
Confederacy, a separate nationality, or a I 
hie government of any M>rt being based upon the 
intractable and irreconcilable elements of « hit h 
the Southern portion of the United State- un- 
made up, struck me as absurd and impo-sih|i\ 
Viewing the subject in the in.-: favorable and 
even flattering light, I could concehc of no 
other result from the success of the rein Hum , 
than bloody and hoj>ole>s anarchy involving, 
the whole nation. In the stability nnd Mifli- 
ciency of the National Government I bad not 

much confidence : yet we had lived under it 
in peace and honor for nearly a century, and 
it was now our only hope. It would .stand or 
fall as the people who created it should de- 
termine. In such a crisis I considered that 
no citi/en could claim the privilege of neutral- 
ity. 1 had some time since decided definitely 
on the course of action which duty demanded 
of me ; yet I hesitated and lingered: 1 \n:is 
held in bondage bv social and domestic ties 
that were hard to break. I was an onl\ -on. 
My fatlu-r was old and feeble, and appeared to 
need m\ presence and support. As I was sjt- 
d it -eeineil as n m\ life belonged more to 
others than to my>elf. I doubted my capacity 
to render the (io\ eminent services sufficiently 
important to ju-tif\ the personal sacrifices I 
would be obliged to in. ike. Thus I debated 
with myself, lingering from day to day. 

Anger supplied the needful stimulant to ac- 
tion. F.dmondson's s|K«eeh >sas "the feather 
that broke the camel s lm« k." The same even- 
ing I -ought a private interview with my fa- 
ther, and informed him that 1 had determined 
to j, .in the National Arinv. I had fortified 
mvM-lf with arguments to combat his objections 
and console his grief. They were not needed. 
No s.H.ner had I announced my intentions than 




he seized my hand with both of his, his 
eyes flashed fire, and his face glowed as 
if the blood of youth again warmed his 
veins. " Go, my son, and take my bless- 
ing," he said. "It is, of all others, the 
position I have most wished to see you 
occupy. I have but one regret," he con- 
tinued, as the tears began to gather; "it 
is that my age and infirmities will prevent 
me from standing beside you in the ranks 
of battle. I have sometimes thought to 
go even as I am. A soldier's death in 
such a cause would not be hard, but I 
could not support the incidental fatigues 
and privations, and I may, perhaps, be 
able to render more efficient service in 
sustaining and encouraging these people 
around me." 

After this interview I considered my- 
self enlisted for the war, and only await- 
ed the opportunity to fulfill my engage- 

This afternoon we had news of a battle 
fought between the National forces under 
Patterson and the rebels at Falling Wa- 
ter. Several of our mountaineers, ac- 
cording to their usual custom, had gone 
down into the Valley to assist in cutting 
the harvest. The forces joined battle on 
the farm where they were employed, and 
at the first discharge of artillery they took 
to their heels, and got home yesterday 
morning, having run about thirty miles 
during the night. 

July 5. — Our military occupants are ev- 
idently uneasy. Couriers are going and 
coming, and their wagons are packed ready 
for a move. It is reported that Colonel 
Lew Wallace's regiment of Zouaves is 
moving down from Cumberland by the nation- 
al turnpike. 

July 7. — To-day our unwelcome visitors are 
gone, bag and baggage, moving toward Win- 
chester. The Indiana regiment is reported 
passing through Hancock. From the hill we 
can hear the drums. 

July 9. — To-day I started for Martinsburg 
on horseback, taking an obscure road to pre- 
vent suspicion of my intentions. After trav- 
eling through the woods for several miles I saw 
a log-cabin in a clearing, and rode up to in- 
quire whether the road was safe. As I ap- 
proached I saw six or eight men escaping from 
the opposite side of the house and hiding in 
the adjacent thickets. At the house I found 
no one but a little girl, who received me with 
decided composure, and in reply to my inqui- 
ries, said there was no one at home and she 
knew nothing about the road. I then asked 
her what men those were who had just left the 
house. She was confused and silent. 

I rode toward the thicket, and announcing 
my own name in a loud voice, told the men to 
come out. First one head and then another 
appeared among the bushes, and presently 
recognizing me the whole company gathered 


around. They had met to devise measures for 
escaping or resisting the rebel conscription, but 
on seeing me approach they mistook me for 
one of the officers, and incontinently fled. I 
recommended to them to keep their rifles load- 
ed, and to shoot the first State agent or con- 
script officer that attempted to meddle with 
them. They promised to follow my counsel. 

As I continued my journey I found the whole 
population in alarm. At the houses I saw none 
but women and children, all the adult males 
having taken to the woods. The political bias 
of the country was unmistakably expressed in 
favor of the Union. At one house, however, 
a sharp-eyed, buxom dame returned me the 
usual "Not at home" with a knowing leer, 
which induced me to ask where the men had 
gone. "Gone to Winchester, of course, where 
they ought to be." As I rode on she screamed 
after me a warning that I would be picked up 
myself before I got much farther on my road. 

As I neared Sleepy Creek Mountain, in pass- 
ing through a dense wood I was halted by the 
challenge of a sentinel — a wild-looking mount- 
aineer armed with a squirrel gun. I named 
my name and unbuttoned my pistol-holster, 
uncertain as to what welcome I might receive. 



I found a party of friendly refugees all around 
and bivouacked in a laurel brake. They fUf 
glad to see me, and tbankful for the encourag- 
ing news I gave them. They reported the 
country toward Martinsburg quiet and safe. 

From hence to Hedgeville I rode without 
meeting a human soul. I arrived here about 
noon, and stopped at the tavern to procure 
food and rest for myself and horse. While 
dinner was preparing I went into the parlor to 
sleep. I presently was disturbed by some 
wrangling in the hall, and directly after the 
landlord entered and told me some of the < i:i 
zens had called ami insisted on soring me. and 
on knowing where I was going and what my 
intentions were. He had resisted them, how 
ever, and refused to let them disturb me. I 
told him to inform these officious gentlemen 
that I was not disposed to answer imjHTtim ni 
questions, and if they persisted they might ex- 
pect a bullet for an answer. I got my nap ami 
my dinner in peace, and wan permitted to pur- 
sue my journey unmolested. 

Within three miles of Martinsburg I met a 
foraging party from Patterson's army . :md | I 
with them iuto the town, which was environed 
with the Federal earn ps. Tin- streets were lull 
of loose soldiers, and a sentinel stood nt sjffltfj 
house to protect the inhabitants from itijun 
annoyance. I r<>.le directly t<» look nftrr N«r- 
bournc, our family mansion, which b id U*«-n 
seized and iiscl as a hospital by the n-L N. I 
found it oeeupied by the medical »taff of one of 
the l'ennsyh ania hriga 1- I i»hment 
had been so roughly used by their predeetHOH 
that the new occupants could not injure it fur- 
ther. I made myself' known to the largeon in 
charge, and recei\ed his promise that the prop- 
erty and surroundings should Ik* cared for. 

The same evening I presented my -el I nt the 
army head-quarters, ami made the at quaint 
anceofthc general staff and most of the oftiecr* 
in command. I proposed to ( iencrul l'uttersou 
to let me have a hundred cavalry for twelve 
hours, and I would insure the capture of I . 
monson's party, which lay at Muger's, eighteen 
miles distant. The General declined to make 
any detachments; saving he could not afford to 
weaken his force. Colonel George 11. Thomas, 
who commanded the cavalry, favored the prop- 
osition, and seemed anxious to undertake the 
raid, upon the principle that these little suc- 
cesses, easily obtained, inspirited ihc troops, 
and gave them more confidence when decisive 
action was required. After-knowledge has con- 
vinced me that General Patterson was entirelv 
right. "The game was not worth the candle." 

Our picket lines I found were but a short 
distance south of Martinsburg, and were con- 
tinually pressed by an active and audacious en- 
emy. Our foraging parties rarely went out 
without being fired on or stampeded. Most 
exaggerated ideas of the rebel force prevailed 
at head-quarters. The most judicious esti- 
mated them at twenty-five or thirty thousand. 
In talking with Colonel Fitz John Porter, chief 

of staff, and Captain Newton, of the engineers. 
I put Johnston's numbers at fifteen thousand 
effectives. I did not think it possil le he could 
exceed that number; and as I knew he had .. 
large numl»er of siek, and that desertions hail 
be. n \ en frequent. 1 thought it probable that 
bis effective force would fall below that esti- 
mate. I did not think it worth while to com- 
pute the militia at all, as they were chiefly 
I nion men and enfon ed conscripts, and would 
doubtless run away at the first fire. 1 musi 
confess I was somewhat irritated nt the cavalier 
manner in which my estimates were received 
by these nu n of war. They seemed to be en- 
tirely satisfied with information obtained from 
other quarter>. and I equally well satisfied 
that this information had been furnished them 
by penguin in the employ of the enemy. 

Throughout the camp the battle of Huinsville 
was the all absorbing topic. The most pn pus 
teroim relation! are given of the feats of arms 
performed on that day, nnd the heaps of rel»cl 
; dead that OOvcr. d the field. The stall' officers 
say it was only n Inch skirmish, the advnnee of 
| our column engaging Jackson's brigade, about 
three thousand strong. The Federal loss was 
three killed nnd seven wounded; the |os s ,,| 
the rebels certainly not fleeter. As the Fed- 
eral* ad* am ed the enemy retreated at a double- 
quick, leading their i amp equipage and knap- 
sacks on the ground. This ( n cuiustance gave 
| to the » n ton, inspirited the troops, nnd 
delighted the I'liiou people e \ t ra\ agalit I V. 

Lieutenant Kirbv Smith, of the TojM.graph- 
icnl < 'orp*. narrated an incident of the inhume 
whirh illustrated the innocent simplicity of our 
soldiers on that day. The skirmishers, excited 
by the novelty of the occasion, hurried forward 
until they had b it the mam column a mile in 
the rear. Here they were halted to await its 
approach ; and l»cing heated by their exercise, 
determined to economize time and make them- 
selves comfortable. Consequently about half 
a mile of the line gathered in about a farm- 
house, stacked their arm* in the fem e corners, 
and U t.M.k thcm«che* to drinking milk, whis- 
tling, sleeping, and other jovial and lion, balant 
amusements. In the midst of it a company of 
thirty or forty mounted men was seen approach- 
ing through the fields. A civil soldier jumped 
forward and let down the bars, which admitted 
them into the lane. The next moment he fell 
with a pistol-ball through his head, and the 
reUd yell, accompanied by a volley of pistol- 
shots, informed the astonished skirmishers of 
the wide difference between a ginger-pop cele- 
bration and actual war. Forty-three men sur- 
rendered, and were carried off in sight of the 
main army. Lieutenant Smith mounted and 
rode off. followed by a rebel horseman. Find- 
ing himself in a closed lane, or ml d? sar, he 
turned on his pursuer and exchanged two pis- 
tol-shots with him, at about twenty paces' dis- 
tance. At the second fire the trooper turned 
tail and rejoined his company. Smith broke 
through the fence and retreated on the main 



body, followed by a mingled shower of oaths 
and bullets. 

Captain Perkins of the regular army, com- 
manding a battery of light artillery, was also 
riding carelessly about half a mile in advance 
of his battery. He was suddenly accosted by 
three officers, one of whom exclaimed in a fa- 
miliar voice and manner : 

"Hallo, Perk, I'm glad to see you; what 
are you doing here ?" 

The Captain, recognizing in the speaker his 
old West Point chum, J. E. B. Stuart, returned 
the salute heartily, recalling his college sobri- 
quet : 

"Why, Beauty, how are you ? I didn't know 
you were with us." 

"Nor did I know you were on our side," re- 
plied Stuart. "What command have you?" 

"There's my command coming over the 
hill," replied Perkins, pointing complaisantly 
to the well-equipped battery that was approach- 
ing with Union colors displayed. 

"Oh, the devil!" exclaimed Stuart, wheel- 
ing suddenly and plunging into the forest. 
"Good-by, Perk." 

As Colonel Stuart was accompanied by two 
aids, and Captain Perkins was alone, unguard- 
ed, and out of reach of timely assistance, he 
expresses surprise that he was not called on to 
surrender. He does not know whether to at- 
tribute Stuart's forbearance to his sudden sur- 
prise on discovering his real position, or to a 
generous sentiment which forbid his taking ad- 
vantage of an old comrade's inadvertency. 

July 10. — The temper of this army is emi- 
nently imaginative and romantic. The most 
trifling incident furnishes sufficient material for 
a Dime Novel. I heard a sergeant of the In- 
diana regiment narrating, to an assembled 
crowd of soldiers and citizens, the particulars 
of the combat, in which he had slain Captain 
Turner Ashby and his brother Dick, and nu- 
merous others of their command. This fight 
it seems occurred between Cumberland and 
Romney. Dick Ashby I know was killed ; 
but I had heard nothing of the other's death, 
and doubt the statement. 

I am much pleased with the tone of senti- 
ment about head-quarters. They seem to un- 
derstand that the inhabitants of this region have 
been bullied and deluded into their present false 
position, and the policy to be pursued toward 
them is to be mild and conciliatory. Their 
property and persons will be protected, and 
their negroes returned to them if they take 
refuge in the camps. This is certainly the 
true policy as applicable to the mass of the 
population. They have not been, and can nev- 
er be, aught else than the dupes and victims of 
designing men. The Government owes them 
protection and pity. For the rest I am not 
sure but a judicious use of hemp would ad- 
vance the interests of humanity as well as those 
of law and government. 

Our citizens here have fraternized most cord- : 
ially with the army. Indeed, I do not know 
Vol. X XXIII. — No. 194. — L 

i where I have seen so many gentlemen of lib- 
eral views, polished manners, and varied ac- 
complishment collected together as may be 
found among the officers of this command. 
Free, social intercourse with such men will do 
much to enlighten and liberalize our people, 
whose prejudices have arisen not so much from 
ignorance as from seclusion. 

July 11. — To-day I visited Captain Simpson 
of the Topographical Corps at his tent. After 
some general conversation in regard to the ge- 
ography and topography of the Valley he pro- 
posed to me to take the place of assistant in 
his party. I replied that I was seeking a posi- 
tion where I might be useful. I knew some- 
thing of military matters theoretically, but had 
never had any experience in the field. He ex- 
plained the duties attached to the position he 
offered, dwelt upon their importance, and urged 
me to accept the place. I agreed to take the 
matter into consideration. The same after- 
noon I reported to him and concluded the en- 

July 12. — Head-quarters was jubilant to-day 
over the news of McClellan's victory at Rich 
Mountain. I visited Norbourne and selected 
three quilts and a piece of oil-cloth to serve me 
for a camp bed. I also unearthed half a dozen 
bottles of old port which the soldiers had for- 
gotten. My pony was transferred to the staff- 
stables and took his first bite of Government 
oats. My scanty equipage was transported by 
a negro to the tent of Lieutenant Kirby Smith, 
with whom I had already become agreeably ac- 

Now fairly enlisted in the service I began to 
get some knowledge of the plans and objects 
of the campaign as well as of the means of car- 
rying it on. On my arrival in town I had been 
informed by discreet and truthful citizens that 
the national forces numbered forty-five thou- 
sand men with seventy guns. I now learned 
to my astonishment that we had less than 
twenty thousand men with only sixteen guns. 
It was also evident that the commanders were 
dissatisfied with the line on which they were 
operating. With both wings "in the air, " and 
communications exposed to attack from an 
active and well-informed enemy, the disad- 
vantages of their position increased with every 
march they might make southward. The pre- 
vailing opinion seemed to be that the army had 
no business here at all but should be at Lees- 
burg. Councils were held and plans suggest- 
ed for moving the supply depot to Harper's 
Ferry. These opinions I heard expressed from 
time to time ; but there was a good deal of reti- 
cence about head-quarters, and I was not fully 
informed as to the general intention of the 

July 13. — I had some conversation with Col- 
onel George H. Thomas to-day. He is a Vir- 
ginian from the south side of James, a fine 
commanding figure, and bearing eminently 
martial. He is said to be remarkable for his 
tenacious courage and coolness in danger. He 


seems gratified to find so much loyal feeling 
among the men of light and leading in thi- 
district. He fully appreciates the weight of 
the social pressure which has been brought to 
bear in favor of the rebellion in other portions 
of the State, and respects the moral n.ur.i.v 
which is stern enough to bid defiance to it. 
The sympathy arising from this parity of views 
and position will lead. I hope, to better acquaint- 
ance. I was also introduced to Major Double- 
day commanding the heavy battery, with his 
Lieutenants Hall and Elder. They are fresh 
from Fort Sumter, and gave some interesting 
details of the proceedings there and in Charles- 

.A/A/ 14.- We h<-;ir.f t- ! ■ ■ t' I . ■:n\ Mir 
render. The Western V nvinians 1MB to be ' 
doing their work effectually. K\ery bo^J il 
in high spirits, and the trains are all loaded 
for a move to-morrow. I ho|»e there may lie 
no delay, for I wish to see this infernal tire 
quenched before it has time to burn out the 
vitals of the State. 

July \~), Monday. — Clear and warm. Thit 
morning tin- army moved on Wim hestcr. It 
was a day of deep interest and high exrite- 
ment to many, but to none more intensely In- 
teresting than to mwdf. It was my lir»t nob 
tary campaign ; but a life of varied « \)«rhcneat| 
with i t s share «»f stirring adventure had inured 
me to novelty, yet nothing that I have ever 
seen surpassed the scenic splendor of this 
march. The atmosphere u.i* deb. i..u»h ge 
nial, the country clothed in the full luxun of 
its summer array, neat farm Iumn^ h ith w hite- 
washed fem « - il >tted the held* nil gulden with 
the ungathered harvest. ( 'haina of blue mount- 
ains on either hand in. losing a picture of •tail- 
ing beauty equaled outside the Valley! 
of the Shenandoah. A full regiment of infant- 
ry deployed as skirmishers l, ,; the march, flank- 
ing the n»ad for half a mile on cither Mile ; the 
picturesque lines moving irregularly, now over 
ojhmi fields of gra»s and clo\cr. now wading 
waist-deep through \ellow, wanng lake* of 
uncut grain; anon climbing femes and disap- 
pearing in tangled thicket and pat. h of forest ; 
again reappearing and forming groups ui«>n 
some sharp ledge of limestone rock to wan the 
country in front j strong reserve* supported the 
centre and extreme thinks of this I.: . 
moving, changing, breaking, and re-forming 
to suit the character of the ground. A bodv 
of four hundred regular cavalry, with Captain 
Tompkins's Rhode Island battery, led by Col- 
onel Thomas, moved next. After them was 
seen the main column often thousand infantry 
with artillery and supply trains stretching out 
in interminable perspective. A column of six 
thousand men. led by Colonel Stone, moved by 
a parallel road to the left out of sight but with- 
in supporting distance. All along the route 
we found traces of the opposing armv in de- 
serted bivouacs, extinguished fires, broken 
fences, overturned wagons, and dead horses. 

At Darksville our skirmishers came upon the 

enemy's cavalry pickets, and some scattering 
shots were exchanged. This tiring was occa 
sionally repeated all the way to Hunker's Hill. 

About a mile U'vond Darksville. scwral 
squadrons of reUd cavalry appearing in front, 
a section of Tompkins's battery was brought 
forward with a rush, and unliml>cring upon an 
open hill top, discharged half a dozen shell into 
the wikh! where the enemy had disappeared. 
At Bunker's Hill our skirmish line came upon 
the main UhIv of Stuart's caxalry posted 1 
hind Mill Creek. There was a brisk and ex- 
citing !';-illad.- t. r ab..ut twenty minutes with- 
out any esj»ccial result that I could jHTccive, 
when a section of artillen was again brought 
up. and, obtaining a cross tire on the enemy's 
position, drove them oat. On the left of the 
turnpike the skirmish line had advaiued about 
half a mile beyond the village. A group of the 
enemy's cavalry still crowned a hillal>out twelve 
hundred yard* in front, observing our foree. 
Captain Tompkins \en quicth brought ouo 
of hit nfled gun* int»> a pout ion masked by 
some tree*. The shell was selected, and tho 
| ie. . I aded carefully . w us sighted b\ the oflb er 
him*clf. The |>oint aimed at was a snow-white 
Himlork winch shone in the centre of tho 
gr< up of horsemen. The skirmish line had 

miMile whizzed through the air. Five seconds 
after there was a whirling among the Itavcloeki 
on the hill, as when the wind strike, a heap of 
dried lca\c». The whole troop then ntartcd at 
full »|»ecd toward Wim heater, the II 
lock bobbing up ami down pre eminently mtil 
lost hi the distance and the dust-clouds which 

ey naa kickcu up. 

A citizen who came into camp shortly after 

ed the modem battle of Hunker's Hill. A Unit 
two o'< lock in the afternoon the army went into 
ramp on the field, not a very bloody one for 
the rest, for I did n : Ie ir <.f" an\ killed or 
wounded on our Hide, and did not see the en- 
emy's los». We pi- ked up ten or a dozen pris- 
oners during the day. < aptured some forage and 
horses, but accomplished nothing else of im- 
portance. I spent the remainder of the day in 
trving to protect the inhabitants from plunder 
and annovancc. Notwithstanding the l>est dis- 
position on the part of the commanding officers 
1 found this a difficult business. 

Colonel Stone's column, having had a rough- 
er road to move upon, did not get in until four 
o'clock in the afternoon. The topographieal 
camp was located in an orchard, near General 
Cadwallader's head-quarter-, a pleasant spot. 

July 1G, TuestLiy. — Clear and warm. Slept 
heavily. I am told there was a great deal of 
tiring on the picket line la-t night, but I take 
no account of these alarms, feeling assured that 
the enemy docs not mean to attack. If he 
fights at all it will be at Winchester, where he 
is secure of the advantage of position. This, 



it seems, is not the opinion at head-quarters. 
A brigade of infantry with a battery moved to- 
ward Winchester this morning to make a recon- 
noissance. I was rather surprised to find that 
the army would not move. 

During the day I talked with Captain Simp- 
son about the roads to Winchester, Berryville, 
Strasburg, and Millwood. Without being fully 
informed as to the object of the campaign, I 
was led to infer he wished to know how we 
could flank Winchester by a movement to the 
left or the east. I indicated Berryville, sev- 
enteen miles distant, as a point from whence 
the roads leading eastward from Winchester 
could be commanded. The Captain was de- 
cidedly of opinion that we ought to go there. 

While we sat at dinner the cannonading at 
the front became so rapid that our horses were 
ordered. Before we mounted, however, the 
firing ceased, and shortly afterward the recon- 
noitring force returned, reporting that they 
had advanced to a point within five miles of 
Winchester without encountering any other 
force than cavalry. The roads were blockaded 
with fallen trees, and every thing indicated a 
defensive policy on the part of Johnston. 

During the afternoon we got hold of two 
white-headed youths, brothers, who had desert- 
ed from Winchester, and had given informa- 
tion in regard to matters there. We took them 
to our tent, and finding one of them intelligent, 
examined him very carefully. The informa- 
tion he gave us corresponded precisely with my 
knowledge of localities at Winchester, and pre- 
vious knowledge of the forces and armament. 
Upon his information we put down Johnston's 
force of effectives at seventeen thousand men, 
and thirty-one pieces of light artillery. Two 
brigades of infantry and a battery of eight guns 
having been added to the force which I saw 
pass through Charlestown on the 15th of June. 
He described the works as accurately as an in- 
experienced youth could be expected to do, and 
said they were armed with ten heavy guns from 
the Norfolk navy-yard — probably old navy 32- 

I was perfectly satisfied that this information 
was sincerely given and approximately accu- 
rate. He had named all the regiments and 
their commanders, and we had made our ag- 
gregate by allowing eight hundred men to the 
regiment. There had been much sickness and 
desertion. I felt assured we had over-esti- 
mated the force of effectives somewhat. When 
these views were presented at head-quarters, 
what was our astonishment to find that they 
were totally discredited. They had satisfac- 
tory information there that the enemy had a 
force of forty-two thousand men and seventy 

I was indignant and mortified that this ''in- 
vention of the enemy" should obtain credence, 
and endeavored to combat it by argument. It 
was utterly impossible that the Confederacy 
could have set on foot such a force in addition 
to what they had at Manassas. They had not 

the means of arming or supplying so many men 
at Winchester. If Johnston had half the force 
attributed to him he would not have put us to 
the trouble of following him to Winchester, but 
would have made us feel him before this. His 
blockading the roads to impede our advance 
was an indication of weakness rather than of 
overwhelming superiority. In short, I was mor- 
ally certain that there could be no such force in 

In reply, I was curtly told by a staff officer 
that my " deserter" was a rogue and would be 
hung some day. I did not dispute his asser- 
tion, but insisted that an intelligent rogue and 
deserter could give very accurate information 
when it suited his purpose to do so, and I did 
not doubt that my man had told me the truth. 
In short, I found the forty-two thousand men 
and seventy guns the accepted belief, and no 
discussion permitted. 

Being a stranger in camp, and without credit 
at head-quarters, I retired to my tent, sketched 
a map of the route to Charlestown, and went to 
sleep with a contemptuous sense of security. 

July 17, Wednesday. — Clear and warm. We 
broke camp this morning at two o'clock. When 
we mounted it was still dark, and the adjacent 
slopes were blazing with fires, at which the 
troops were cooking breakfast. At dawn the 
whole column was in motion on the road to 
Smithfield, leading eastward and retrograding 
from Winchester. Colonel Frank Patterson's 
Pennyslvania regiment (called the Roundheads 
from the shape of their hats) led the march. 
As we descended the bluff to Mill Creek, near 
the Opequan Bridge, a body of men was seen on 
an overlooking hill, and the Roundheads opened 
on them briskly, firing twenty or thirty shots 
before they discovered that it was one of our 
own posts established the night previous to 
guard the bridge. 

Crossing this bridge we ascended the lime- 
stone ridge on the eastern bank, from whence 
we had a magnificent view of the Valley to 
Winchester and twenty miles beyond, termina- 
ted by the Fort Mountains. The town of Win- 
chester, located in a basin, was not visible, but 
near its locality we observed a large column of 
smoke rising as if from the destruction of some 
buildings or bridges. As our regiments suc- 
cessively filed up from the misty vale of the 
Opequan their burnished arms and banners 
caught the rosy light of the sun just rising over 
the Blue Ridge. It was an inspiriting and mar- 
tial scene. If we had not been on the retro- 
grade I should have enjoyed it more. 

At Smithfield we still had choice of roads, 
one led to Winchester fifteen miles distant, an- 
other to Berryville, between Winchester and 
Snicker's Ferry, about twelve miles distant re- 
spectively from Winchester and Smithfield. 
The third route led to Charlestown, eight miles 
off and twenty-two from Winchester. A bri- 
gade, by way of feint, moved a short distance 
on the Winchester road, but the main column 
took the Charlestown route. The van-guard 



halted about a mile from Smithfield, ami seeing 
something resembling a body of cavalry drawn 
up across the road a gun was sent fur. It wm 
posted and loaded, but a closer examination 
showed our enemy to be a UX-bofM team with 
a load of hay, and consequently the battery did 
not open. 

As I was riding alone some distance in ad- 
vance of the column, a tall negro man ran up 
and addressed me with great earnestness. 

" Oh, Sir, why don't you hurry on to Char 1- -- 
town? Be quick, and you will catch the peo- 
ple that hung that good man - J « • 1 1 1 » Brown." 

"Indeed, Uncle, and so you think John 
Brown was a good man and should not have 
been hung?" 

"Yes, indeed. Sir. He was a man sent bv 
the Lord to do justice on earth and give li l 
to the oppressed, and I don't know how it hap- 
pened after that the Lord permitted him and 
them that were with him to die in that miser- 
able way." 

The advance of the troops interrupted our 
conversation, and I rode forward a short distam e 
to speak to a white man who wit on h«-r>4 b.n k 
near his gate. 1 found he was the owner of 
the slave who had first addressed me, and in- 
quired of him with some In line of interest, if 
he had observed any restiv mess among his 
blacks since the National army had entered 
Virginia ? lie assured me, m a U»aMful tone, 
that he had never known them more contented 
ami obedient, and had ii«> t< ..i tint anv of his 
would leave him. 

This was only an expression of the fatuity 
which seemed to have pos M ss 4 1 the minds of 
most slave-owners of late vears. No « lass p| 
men had better opportunities of knowing that 
subtlety, the armor of the weak, is the i -|*-< : I 
characteristic of the hereditnry slave. In the 
ordinary affairs of lite th< v pl.t. ed no n diam e 
whatever on the sincerity of his expressed opin- 
ions, knowing they were invariably put forth to 
please and flatter the questioner, e*|>ecially if 
he happened to be of the dominant race. Y. t 
now, blinded by passion, they insisted thnt the 
slaves feared and hated the Yankees, and would 
not accept the boon of freedom if offered. 

I found a practical commentary on this opin- 
ion when I returned to the head of the column. 
About a dozen negroes, men and women, had 
come out of the adjoining fields equip|»ed for 
traveling with their Sunday clothes and bun- 
dles. They had evidently prepared themselves 
beforehand and waited the approach of the 
army. The spokesman among them was my 
recent acquaintance. He asked a soldier.! 
the Massachusetts regiment " if this was not the 
army that was come to set them free ?" The 
soldier replied, "No, my man, we have come 
here solely to execute the laws. To set von 
free, or to do any thing contrary to the law of 
the land, is not our mission. Go, therefore, 
serve your master faithfully, and be content to 
know that you are in all probability better off 
under his protection than if you were free." 

The negro looked alternately at the speaker 
and at the armed host that was sweeping bv 
with an expression of mingled perplexity and 
disappointment. His companions, although list- 
ening with open eyes, mouths, and ears, had 
scarcely caught the meaning of the soldier's re 
marks. They turned their chop-fallen coun- 
tenances toward the big negro as if for further 

He repeated, sadly, " Dey say dey ain't come 
to set us free." A girl, with shining face am: 
yellow headkerchief, retorted, spitefully, "Den 
what de dehble dey come here for, I'd like t. 
know, burnin' people s fences and spoilin* dere 
corn?" Knowing that according to the pro 
claimed policy of the Government fugitives 
would Ih» returned to their masters from the 
tamps, and that in a military point of \ie\\ 
thev could m»t be tolerated, 1 felt it my dutv 

to explain to these | i creatures the true state 

of the case, ami to recommend to them nol to 
commit themselves by reiving on a refuge with 
the army. The leader thanked me politeh and 
slowlv turned away, looking perplexed, like one 
who has been awakened from a long cherished 

At the ruin of the old Kpiscopnl Church— 
the first built in the valley — the main column 
halted, and detachments weic .cut forward to 
the right and left to m< lose the town and cap 
turc the militia, which were reported to be as 
M-mbled then-. The nrmv entered ( 'harlcstow n 
with drums U-atiug, colors living, and all the 
pomp of a grand review. The Greets were «i- 
1. ut and deserted, the houses generally (dosed, 
and only a few negroes and < hildren appeared 
to witness the " grand entice." As the column 
pasM-d a Confederate Hag was displayed from 
the upper window of a storehouse. The door- 
wi re instantly crushed in and the offensive em 
Idem r« i laced b\ the Stars and Stri|>cH. Oth 
crwise every thing was quiet. The sentiment 
of the armv was conciliatory, while, from terror 
or sullctmess, very few of the inhabitants showed 
themselves on the streets. I assisted my chief 
in posting the troops as they came in, and at 
night, weary and dispirited, ret irvd to our camp 
in a field beside the Harper's Ferry turn). ike. 

July 18, Thuruluy. — I am informed to-day 
that our movement from Murtinsburg via Bun 
ker's Hill to this place was a flank march to cover 
the transfer of our supply train to a new base 
at Harj^'s Ferry. The enemy's cavalry picked 
up a couple of our sutler's wagons yesterday. 
A reconnoitring party has moved out toward 
Berrwillc. There wa* some spirited shell 
practice this afternoon which sounded ; 
battle, while from the continual crackle of 
small-arms through the camps one might infer 
there was a chronic skirmish on hand. One ot 
these desultory shots wounded a horse belong- 
ing to Perkins's light battery. The Captain, 
who was fiery, loaded a section with canilter 
and turning the guns on the camp from whence 
the shot came, declared if another ball was 
fired into his purlieu he would open on the 



offenders. The infantry got ready to take the 
battery, and it required some authority to settle 
the difficulty. 

My principal business to-day was mediating 
between the citizens and the military. 

After dark this evening I was informed that 
Joe Johnston was crossing at Berry's Ferry, 
moving toward Manassas. 

July 19, Friday. — Clear and warm. This 
morning before breakfast I received positive 
information that Johnston's whole army had 
crossed the Shenandoah at Berry's Ferry. A 
loyal citizen, who was eye-witness of the fact, 
had ridden during the night to bring the news. 
I immediately communicated it to Captain 
Simpson, who said it was important, and hur- 
ried over to head-quarters. After a brief ab- 
sence he returned somewhat irritated, and said 
the report was not credited at head-quarters. 
I told him my information was positive and of 
indubitable authority, although for good rea- 
sons I could not reveal the source from whence 
I obtained it. He expressed full confidence in 
it, and then questioned me as to the roads from 
our position leading across the ridge into Lou- 
don, saying we should move immediately by 
the shortest route toward Manassas. My opin- 
ion was that the roads spoken of were scarcely 
practicable for heavy trains. The troops using 
them must move light. Johnston would, in any 
case, have the short line, and nearly two days' 
start of us. 

All the while our force, composed of three 
months' volunteers, was rapidly melting away. 
The time of nearly all of them had expired. 
One or two regiments turned back at Marlins- 
burg before this march began. Three regi- 
ments left at Bunker's Hill, marching homeward 
while the guns were sounding at the front. 

To-day other regiments were departing. 
General Patterson had several regiments whose 
terms were expired paraded near head-quar- 
ters. He came out and addressed them, urging 
them to remain until the campaign was ended. 
Colonel Wallace's Zouaves volunteered to re- 
main ten days longer. Some other organiza- 
tions followed their example. The general 
feeling among the troops, however, was to go 
home on the day their engagements terminated, 
without regard to circumstances. 

I was busy to-day getting citizens released 
from arrest and soliciting protections for the 
houses and property of others. As we have 
(ailed to make any favorable military impres- 
sion, it is our policy to produce as favorable an 
impression otherwise as possible. 

While I was at head-quarters a committee 
of soldiers appointed from one of the regiments 
called on the Commanding General. He re- 
ceived them on the portico of the house, and 
inquired their business. The committee, com- 
posed of three lanky, tallow-faced fellows, took 
off their hats, and the spokesman, who was 
especially tall, lanky, and tallow-faced, stood 
forward and took from under his arm a large 
package folded in a piece of tent cloth. This 

jhe unrolled with great deliberation, and dis- 
i played a side of the whitest and fattest pickled 
J pork that could be conceived of. Then rolling 
his eyes imploringly upon his chief he began, 
in a lackadaisical tone : 

"General, we've been appointed a commit- 
tee by our regiment to come and show you how 
we poor soldiers are treated by our commissa- 
ries, and what sort of rations we git. Look at 
that, General!" he exclaimed, rousing himself 
to energy. " We've fought hard, and marched 
hard, but we can't stand it much longer — we're 
most gone :" and to present more emphatically 
the exhausted condition of the army the speak- 
er leaned languidly against a pillar of the por- 
tico. The two assistants responded with faint 
groans, and leaned corroboratively against ad- 
joining posts. 

The General meanwhile had examined the 
corpus delicti. 

"That looks very fine!" he exclaimed; 
"what's the matter with that?" 

"General," gasped the astonished commit- 
teeman, leaving the support of his post in his 
excitement, "we men can't live on that sort 
of meat : it's all fat !" 

"Well," replied the General, "I thought 
fat pork was always considered the best." 

"But," persisted the orator, "this is all fat. 
Men can't march and fight all day and all night 
as we've done unless they git some lean." 

The eye of the old soldier twinkled as he 
dismissed them, promising to give orders that 
the Commissary should issue none but lean 
pork hereafter. The fellows shouldered their 
greasy grievance and marched off as jauntily as 
if they had won a victory. 

July 20, Saturday. — Clear and pleasant. We 
received information of the collision between 
our forces and the enemy at Bull Run on the 
19th. It was regarded as a check, and pro- 
duced a feeling of dissatisfaction and uneasi- 

Our pickets were all night long skirmishing 
with cows, stumps, and imaginary enemies. I 
think the men on guard get lonely and fright- 
ened, and fire their guns to get up an excite- 
ment and relieve their minds. I obtained 
some valuable maps for the Topographical De- 
partment to-day. They are needed, as the 
Government seems to lack geographical and 
topographical information in regard to this 
region especially. This evening Lieutenant 
Smith is ordered to lead a brigade to Keyes's 
Ferry. This indicates that we will fall back to 
Harper's Ferry. 

July 21, Sunday. — Clear and pleasant. This 
morning we broke camp and moved for Har- 
per's Ferry. 

Such was my mortification at the result of 
the campaign that I made it convenient to get 
off without taking leave of my friends in town. 
As we drew near Harper's Ferry a tall, thin 
man, on horseback, saluted Captain Simpson, 
and reported himself as William Luce, an as- 
sistant draughtsman, ordered from Washington 



to join us. I was presented to my new com- 
panion, and we rode together to Harper - Kerry. 

To-day it was frankly revealed to me. for the 
first time, that a decisive battle was to l»e fought 
at Manassas Junction, and was probably in 
progress. The motive of our late movement 
was explained. as was also the fact that it hail 
signally failed. 

At Harper's Ferry head-quarters were es- 
tablished at the house of the Superintendent 
of the Armory, while the topographical party 
pitched their tents near the dwelling of the late 
paymaster. Some of the officers remarked 
that Uncle Sam had recovered his own again, 
but it was only the empty shell. A place more 
thoroughly gutted could not I*- imagined. 

July 22, Shmhy . — Warm rain. Lieutenant 
Smith rejoined us to-day, the troops guarding 
Keyes's Ferry having returned. The tr ">ps 
whose terms of service have expired urv leav- 
ing us by regiments, fording the Potomac abort I 
the island, every man and officer earning with 
him some cumbersome memento of the earn 
paign, in shape of a briek. a cannon ball, or 
burned musket-barrel from the ruin* of the 

A tienaL 

I started with my commanding officer to re- I 
connoitrc the crest of London Height*, wham, I 
it is reported, the enemy had con»tructed n»me 
block-houses. We t...,K an e«cOf| Of UU\ *liar]w 
shooters from llrigadier-tfcneral N—'i bri- 
gade, the General and bin •.tail 1 ' nci om|mnying 
us as spectators. ( Voting the Slu n in lo di hi 
an unusual and very rough ford, we amended 
the mountain by a winding road shaded by (nil 
forest trees and bordered by the deln ioti* wild- 
bloom of the season. (Mi the summit we found 
a cleared space of ul»out twelve hundred yard* 
in length by three humlrcd wide, with three 
block-houses s,, located as to Malik mid MlpJ>ort 

each other. On the roof of one of the«o wo 
took lunch, and while thus engaged were ac- 
costed by two eiti/ens who informed in that 
there was a picket «.i n Im 1 « avnlri in the ial 

ley below. It was determined to extend our 

reconnoissance in that direction, the Captain 
hoping to hear sonic tidings of the battle which 
was probably fought yesterday. We di-M end- 
ed by a narrow path winding through dcn*e 
thickets and scarcely practicable for hones. I 
From the foot of the ridire we made our wav 
across some meadows;, fording a pretty stream, 
and finally reaching the main turnpike leading 

from Harper's Ferry, r/.i Hillsborough, to I. 

burg. Calling at a house we were answered 
by a country fellow, who replied to our ques- 
tions in so vague and unsatisfactory a manner 
that he was taken into custodv. 

Moving on toward Hillsborough our guide 
pointed out two men mowing in a field. One 
of them, named Dorrell, he said, was a trou- 
blesome man. who had been verv active in 
hunting up "volunteers" for the Confederate 
army. The man thus indicated justified the 
accusation brought against him by throwing 
down his scythe and tleeing toward the mount- 

ain as soon as he espied us. The chase was 
immediately opened; a doaen of the Dutch 
sharp-shooters on foot, and the General with 
staff and orderlies on horseback, started in full 
i r\ after the fugitive. The chase, with all the 
dodges, leaps, and turns of pursuers ami pur- 
sued, was m full view for halt a mile l>orreI! 
ran like a buck, while the Dutchmen followed 
stanchly with whoop and halloo. The hunted 
party, however, had the advantage of speed 
and knowledge of loealities. ami finally escaped 
to the mountain. The other mower, with mi- 
|K-rior linnnc-w or a letter conscience, k< | t 
quietly at his work ami was not even ques- 

(fathering up after this unsuccessful chase, 
the detachment tinned on several miles further 
> Ni*en»\ die, a village of a do/en houses. Here 
separating into two parties mir escort took open 
order and closed around the village, like High- 
land hunter* upon their game. Their rush into 
the town with fixed bayonets and a cheer was 
dramatic, and took the inhabitants by surprise. 
Hut one adult male was captured, who upon 
examination was found to he a lame idiot. 
Finding himself cornered ha took off his hat 
and gave three cheer* for JetT David; but th | 
M range oath* nml menacing bayonets of th • 
Teutonic guard convinced him of bin mistake. 
He then \o|unteered three heart) hurrahs for 
Alio Lincoln, n hereupon I " w. i ; .. red ■ w i 
the following i ouimemtatiou, " Dat's a cool 
feller ; he'* nil right !*' 

Two mile* he*. .ml Neemville we found Dor- 
reU'« house. The proprietor wo* abitent from 
home, of eoupM*. but o,ir /cubm* Dutchmen 
•care bed the premises an carefully a* if they 
expected to find him. The only opposition 
they met wa» from an old woman who cackled 
at them and a houte-dog that barked. A toi- 
ler Of German oath* silemed the old woman 
arid drove the dog under the limine. Tho onlv 
practical result of thi» »ean h waa a huge black 
stallion that wu« found in tho barn. This an- 
imal wa* led forth shining with fatness and 
faithful gnHuning. but with none of the bold, 
obnirejfcrous aim of holiday faint and militia 
muster days. He appeared, on the contrary, 
with drooping head and tail between his legs, 
pulled, cutfed, and kicked by his captors, the 
nnnt humble and cringing creature imagina- 
ble, doubtless fully appreciating the fact that 
he had fallen into the hands of the Hessians. 
Having accomplished this capture the expedi- 
tion wheeled to the right about, returning 
through Xcersvillc. 

The cavalry post wc had heard of had been 
withdrawn to Hillsborough. There were some 
vague rumors of a bloody battle m ar .Man., 
sas. with great loss on both side*. This report 
was so vague that it might have referred to the 
affair of the nineteenth. The inhabitants gen- 
erally seemed well disposed, but they had no 
information of any importance. At Necr-viHe 
the Federal oath of allegiance was administer- 
ed to several citizens, including the principal 



saddler and the idiot. This latter at the con- 
clusion of the ceremony again vociferated for 
Jeff Davis, and was again obliged to change 
his tune. The orderly who led the newly-re- 
cruited horse helped himself to a halter that 
hung at the saddler's door, pleasantly suggest- 
ing to the proprietor that in recognition of the 
loyalty which he had just proved by taking the 
oath he would be permitted to contribute some- 
thing to the great cause. 

A guard was sent to arrest a county magis- 
trate named Price, charged with being a zeal- 
ous administrator of Confederate laws and oaths 
of fealty to the so-called Government. When 
arraigned the magistrate firmly asserted his 
opinions, and was detained under guard. His 
son, who stood by, then voluntarily proclaimed 
himself a rebel, and was also taken into custo- 
dy. I was touched with this exhibition of filial 
piety, and rode beside the young man for the 
purpose of relieving any apprehensions he might 
have in regard to the safety or civil treatment 
of his father. He recognized me and called 
me by name, asking why his father had been 
arrested. I replied, he had been guilty of high 
treason against the United States in undertak- 
ing to administer the laws of a rebellious gov- 
ernment. The young man looked as if in a 

"The State of Virginia has ordered him to 
do it, and being a magistrate of the State, how 
can he refuse ?" 

I endeavored to explain to him the theory 
of National Supremacy as it had been taught 
to me ; but he suggested a practical difficulty 
which the theory did not meet. 

"Our State authorities," said he, "threaten 
us with confiscation and death if we do not 
obey them, and the United States menaces us 
with worse if we do. Now what in the name 
of God are we to do ?" 

" My young friend," I replied, "your ques- 
tion is a pertinent one, and difficult to answer. 
It is even now in process of solution, by the 
last argument of kings and governments. When 
that thundering debate shall have been closed 
we may be able to speak advisedly on this sub- 
ject. Meanwhile, permit me to say that I 
have been touched by your manly bearing, and 
will interest myself to procure the speedy re- 
lease of your father and yourself." 

The expedition continued its movement by 
the Hillsborough pike toward Harper's Ferry. 
On a tree by the road-side was discovered a 
written placard ordering the assembly of the 
militia, and signed by a Captain Tevis. A 
military ruse was planned by one of the offi- 
cers, which resulted in the capture of Captain 
Tevis (whose house was near at hand) and the 
confiscation of his military dress and equip- 

This exploit concluded the adventures of the 
day. The rain had ceased, and as we wheeled 
around the base of Loudon Heights a glorious 
sunset burst suddenly upon us. The whole 
western horizon was ablaze, while rivers and 

rocks, ruins and camps, appeared all glittering 
with the golden light. It was a scene of sur- 
passing grandeur, and one calculated to bring 
into impressive contrast Infinity with the little- 
ness of men. 

We returned to Harper's Ferry, having suc- 
cessfully accomplished the serious object of the 
reconnoissance. If the farcical by-play which I 
have narrated had added nothing to the military 
prestige or moral force of the Government, it 
at least indicated what was to be the fate of 
the Border people during the coming wars. 

July 23, Tuesday. — Clear and pleasant. Mr. 
Luce, the new draughtsman, who has been lost 
since Sunday, reported again to-day. I was 
pleased to find him a clever artist with his pen- 
cil. While he, Lieutenant Smith, and myself 
were amusing ourselves caricaturing each oth- 
er, Captain Simpson appeared at the door of 
the tent looking very much flushed and excited. 

"Gentlemen," said he, "look at my coun- 
tenance, and read the news." 

"What is it? What of the battle?" ex- 
claimed one and all. 

"We have been beaten at Manassas — beat- 
en disgracefully. The troops ran, and were 
cut to pieces like sheep, abandoning artillery, 
baggage, and every thing else in their panic." 

The pencils were laid aside. Going up to 
head-quarters with our chief, we heard on all 
sides the fiery curses of rage, mortification, and 
disappointment. A proposition to march rap- 
idly on Winchester with a column of five or 
six thousand men was under discussion. But 
the decisive battle had been fought, and this 
tardy effort to retrieve error and disaster could 
have accomplished nothing to justify the risk. 
It was very properly dismissed. I did not for- 
get my promise to the Loudon prisoners, who 
received some judicious counsel, and were dis- 
charged — all except the horse. 

July 24, Wednesday. — Clear and warm. Our 
discharged troops are still streaming across the 
Potomac by regiments, homeward bound. I 
met some Union refugees from Martinsburg this 
morning, who told me that Allan's regiment had 
been dreadfully cut up at Manassas. They 
named among the killed several young men of 
my acquaintance and kindred. The bodies had 
already been brought home and buried. The 
whole county was in mourning. 

The National cause was, for the present, en- 
tirely lost in Virginia. I foresaw the effect 
this victory would have upon public opinion, 
and trembled for the safety of my friends and 
family at Berkeley. Having obtained leave of 
absence, I started the same afternoon to visit 
them. At Sharpsburg I took supper, and, to 
shorten the next day's ride, pushed on seven 
miles further, to Jones's tavern, on the Hagers- 
town road. I was informed that I could be 
comfortably lodged there if I could succeed in 
arousing the landlord, who was notoriously 
sleepy-headed. I got to the house about ten 
p.m., and spent the next hour shouting and 
pounding at the door. My perseverance was 



at length rewarded, and I got fairly to bad 11 

In reviewing the campaign of General Pat- 
terson In' the light of experience and fuller hv 
forniation, I am led to the conclusion that it" 
futility was insnreil in it> conception. The 
movement of the National army by tin- lnu- of 
Martiu-liurg and Bunker's Mill must, of course, 
leave it entirely optional with JoJUMtQfl wheth- 
cr to reinforce Mana*>as or to hazard a b.i 
in a position of his own selection. No inano-u- 
vrc of the Federal commander from that direc- J 
tion could interfere with the free-will of an act- 
ive and well-iuf'>nned iiicms. l.\.r\ •: 
which General Patterson made «•••*. o! \\ 
ehester withdrew him from the dcci»i\e ti< Id 
of action, while by c\cry retrograde Johnston 
was thrown nearer hi-* unhroken line of mm- ! 
munieution and the \ ital point of the « .unpawn. I 
Whether General . I • d i it- 1 « *u reallv intended tu 

hazard a hattle. or to defend Winchester at 
that time, is l*»«t known to himself; hut he 
well knew. as e\ery one eUe now knows, that 
the most stunning defeat inflicted on Patter- 
son's army could not have rendered it more 
um less than it would have been at Winchester, 
or at any other | in the Valley of tie- Shen- 
andoah, on the day of the decisive battle at 
Mauas*a«. N r dm > it neem at all probable 

force that wa« melting away of itself, ami in a 
few day * would have been reduced to a mere 

THl expedition, to hare been successful, 
sh.Mihl hare niored from Harper's Kerry on the 
eaMern side of the lllue Uidgc, or through 
I.. •csbn.rg, as its commander suggested. Mat 
the l>ad policy of operating on exterior lines 
again*! an enemy on interior line* in loo well 
understood at this day to re. pure discussion. 


Past mnnv a shndr nook. 

The hal.l.ling meadow hntok, 
Twixt grass-growu banks with feathen fern 

Glide* on its devious way 
Through all the Inching J 
While fields and wimmU with »um 
arc sounding. 


Far off across the talc, 
Where the light vapor* Mil, 
Veiled with thin mist the purple hill* aro 

And in the ri|>cned field. 
Amid the summer's yield. 
The farmers now the golden grain are reap- 

The locust sings un*ccn 
Behind ■OHM leafy screen. 
While the hot sun looks down with fiery 
glam es ; 

All Nature seems to swoon 
As toward its highest noon, 
From heat to heat, the glowiug dar ad- 

The deep creek, winding, flows 
By shelving shores where grows 
The silvery willow marked with sun and 

And El its glassy wave 
The cattle conic to laro 
Their sweltering limbs from feeding in the 

Steeped in the blinding light. 

The clouds, all deathly white. 
Across the vault with listless motion sailing 

Below me in the plain. 

Along the bending grain, 
Their grateful shadows o'er the earth arc 



from the hills aro 

The laborers' work is stopped, 

Hie * 
And homewi 



I sum- 

llcsidc the cottage (torch. 
The sunflower's shining torrl 
T!..»t marked with ring, of Maim 
incr'i coming, 

Stands in proud splendor there 
Where all the noontide air 
la drowsy with the sweet bees' idle hum- 

Within the garden blowi 
The fragrant summer r»MM», 
Whose blufthing leaves with sweet |*erfumc 

And swaying gentlv there, 
The lily, parsing fair, 
Hang* her meek head like some retiring 

Oh, glorious summer! stay, 
Nor hasten yet away 
From the sweet fields with thy warm beaut? 
glowing ; 

My life has reached its prime, 
Its radiant summer-time. 
And all my blood with added warmth is 

The day at last declines. 
The west with splendor sliincs 

A* slantwise now the sun's last beam* arc 

And all the dazzling air. 
Bright with the sunset's glare. 

Is filled with myriad voices blithely calling. 





THERE are very few animals among the 
Mammalia who venture to exert their skill 
upon aerial architecture. Consequently the 
Harvest Mouse, found in many parts of En- 
gland, is regarded with special interest ; and 
this not only because its home is suspended 
above the ground in such a manner as to en- 
title it to the name of a true pensile nest, but 
also on account of its intrinsic beauty and ele- 
gance. The nest is generally hung to several 
stout grass-stems ; sometimes it is fastened to 
wheat straws ; and occasionally it is found sus- 
pended to the head of a thistle. It is a very 
beautiful structure, being made of very narroAv 
grasses, and woven so carefully as to form a 
hollow globe, rather larger than a cricket-ball, 
and very nearly as round. The Harvest Mouse 
is an elegant little creature, so tiny that, when 
full-grown, it weighs scarcely more than the 
sixth of an ounce, and we can not but wonder 
how it contrives to form so complicated an ob- 
ject as a hollow sphere with thin walls. The 
walls are so thin that an object inside the nest 
can be easily seen from any part of the exte- 
rior ; there is no opening whatever, and when 
the young are in the nest they are packed so 
tightly that their bodies press against the wall 
in every direction. As there is no defined 
opening, and as the walls are so loosely woven, 
it is probable that the mother is able to push 
her way between the meshes, and so to arrange 
or feed her young. The position of the nest, 
which is always at some little height, presup- 
poses a climbing power in the architect. All 
mice and rats are good climbers, but the Har- 
vest Mouse is especially well fitted for climb- 
ing, inasmuch as its long and flexible toes can 
firmly grasp the grass-stem, and its long slen- 

der tail aids it materially in sustaining itself. 
As the food of the Harvest Mouse consists 
greatly of insects, flies being especial favorites, 
it is evident that great agility is needed. In 
order to show the active character of the quad- 
ruped one of the harvest mice is represented in 
the engraving as climbing toward a fly, upon 
which ifr is about to pounce. In such circum- 
stances its leap is remarkably swift, and its aim 
as accurate as that of a swallow. In the airy 
cradle of the Harvest Mouse may sometimes be 
seen as many as eight young mice, all packed 
together like herrings in a barrel. 

The Common Mouse, also, is a notable little 
house-builder, making nests out of various ma- 
terials, and placing them oftentimes in very odd 
places, as the following instances will show : At 
the end of autumn a number of flower-pots had 
been set aside in a shed, in waiting for the 
coming spring. Toward the middle of winter 
the shed was cleared out and the flower-pots 
removed. While carrying them out of the shed 
the owner was rather surprised to find a round 
hole in the mould, and examined it closely. 
In the hole was seen, not a plant, but the tail 
of a mouse, which leaped from the pot as soon 
as it was set down. Presently another mouse 
followed from the same aperture, showing that 
a nest lay beneath the soil. On removing the 
earth a neat and comfortable nest was found, 
made chiefly of straw and paper, the entrance 
to which was the hole through which the in- 
mates had fled. The most curious point in 
connection Avith this nest was, that although the 
earth in the pot seemed to be intact except for 
the round hole, which might have been made 
by a stick, none was found within it. The in- 
genious little architects had been clever enough 






to scoop out the whole of the earth and to cany 
it away, so as to form a cavity for the reception 
of their nest. They did not completely empty 
the pot, as if knowing by instinct that their 
habitation would be betrayed, but allowed a 
slight covering of earth to remain upon their 
nest. A number of empty bottles had been 
stoAved away upon a shelf, and among them 
was found one which was tenanted by a mouse. 
The little creature had considered that the bot- 
tle would afford a suitable home for her young, 
and had therefore conveyed into it a quantity 
of bedding which she made into a nest. The 
bottle was filled with the nest, and the eccen- 
tric architect had taken the precaution to leave 
a round hole corresponding to the neck of the 
bottle. In this remarkable domicile the young 
were placed ; and it is a fact worthy of notice 
that no attempt had been made to shut out the 
light. Nothing would have been easier than 
to have formed the cavity at the under-side, so 
that the soft materials of the nest would ex- 
clude the light ; but the mouse had simply 
formed a comfortable hollow for her young, 
and therein she had placed them. It is there- 
fore evident that the mouse has no fear of 
light, but that it only chooses darkness as a 
means of safety for its young. The rapidity 
with which the mouse can make a nest is some- 
what surprising. Some few years ago, in a 
farmer's house, a loaf of newly-baked bread 
was placed upon a shelf, according to custom. 
Next day a hole was observed in the loaf; and 
when it was cut open a mouse and her nest was 
discovered within, the latter having been made 
of paper. On examination, the material of the 
habitation was found to have been obtained 
from a copy-book, which had been torn into 
shreds and arranged into the form of a nest. 
Within this curious home were nine new-born 
mice. Thus in the space of thirty-six hours, 
at most, the loaf must have cooled, the interior 
been excavated, the book found and cut into 
suitable pieces, the nest made, and the young 
brought into the world. Surely it is no won- 
der that mice are so plentiful, or that their 
many enemies fail to exterminate them. 

When in a state of liberty, and able to work 
in its own manner, the Dormouse is an admira- 
ble nest-maker. As it passes the day in sleep, 
it must needs have some retired domicile in 
which it can be hidden from the many enemies 
which might attack a sleeping animal. One 
of these nests is depicted in the illustration, 
being situated in a hedge about four feet from 
the ground, and is placed in the forking of a 
branch, the smaller twigs of which form a kind 
of palisade round it. The substances of which 
it is composed are of two kinds ; namely, grass- 
blades and leaves of trees. Two or three kinds 
of grass are used, the greater part being the 
well-known sword-grass, whose sharp edges 
cut the fingers of a careless handler. The 
blades are twisted round the twigs and through 
the interstices, until they form a hollow nest, 
rather oval in shape. Toward the bottom 

the finer sorts of grass are used, as well as 
some stems of delicate climbing weeds, which 
are no larger than ordinary thread, and which 
serve to bind the mass together. Interwoven 
with the grass are leaves, which fill up the in- 
terstices. The entrance to the nest is so in- 
geniously concealed tl it to find it is not a very 
easy matter, even when its precise position is 
known ; and in order to show the manner in 
which it is constructed, one of the Dormice is 
represented in the act of drawing aside the 
grass-blades that conceal it. The pendent 
pieces of grass that are being held aside by the 
little paw are so fixed, that when released from 
pressure they spring back over the aperture 
and conceal it in a very effectual manner. Such 
a nest is usually about six inches in length and 
three in width. Although the Dormouse uses 
this aerial house as a residence, it does not 
make use of it as a granary. Like many oth- 
er hibernating animals, it collects a store of 
winter food, which generally consists of nuts, 
grain, and similar substances. These treas- 
ures are carefully hidden away in the vicinity 
of the nest, and in the illustration the animal 
is shown as eating a nut which it has taken 
from one of its storehouses beneath the thick 

The Stag Beetle and the Golden-crested Wren 
have been introduced into the illustration to 
show the comparative size of the animals. 

It is hardly possible to overrate the wonder- 
ful varieties of form that are assumed by the 
nests of insects — varieties so bold and so start- 
ling that few would believe in the possibility of 
their existence without ocular demonstration. 
No rule seems to be observed in them ; at all 
events no rule has as yet been discovered by 
which their formation is guided; neither has 
any conjecture been formed as to the reason 
for the remarkable forms which they assume. 
In the British Museum there is a splendid col- 
lection of curious nests, but none perhaps which 
awakens more surprise and admiration than the 
wonderful group represented in the accompany- 
ing illustration. Although the seven nests were 
not all found adhering to a single branch — be- 
ing placed near each other only to allow of 
easy comparison — they were all made by an 
insect bearing the somewhat scientific name of 
Apoica. This insect, although by no means a 
handsome creature, well deserves, its scientific 
title. By referring to the illustration it will be 
seen that the nests are by no means uniform in 
size or shape. The larger one, which occu- 
pies the centre, rather exceeds ten inches in 
diameter, while the small nest at the end of 
the same branch is scarcely half as wide, and the 
others are of all the intermediate sizes. In 
shape, too, they differ, some being perfectly 
hexagonal, others partly so, while others again 
are nearly circular, though on a careful inspec- 
tion they show faint traces of the hexagonal 
form. The upper surfaces are more or less 
convex, according to their size ; this form be- 
ing evidently intended for the purpose of mak- 




ing them water-proof. In fact, the nests some- 
what resemble shallow basins with very thick 
sides, and bear an almost startling resemblance 
to the cap of a very large and well-shaped mush- 
room, the central specimen being so fungus- 
like in form that, if it were laid on the ground 


in a waste and moist spot, it would soon be 
picked up as a veritable mushroom. The color 
is in general a yellowish brown, although oc- 
casionally some nest boldly departs from the 
general uniformity, presenting a reddish sur- 
face, or even a white. All the nests are fixed 
in the same manner to a 
branch or twig passing 
through the upper surface. 
When the nest is increased 
in size the original support 
is often found to be too 
slight, and in that case oth- 
ers are added. The cells 
are arranged in the most 
systematic manner in rows 
which follow the exterior 
outline, and therefore take 
the shape of a hexagon. 
How the insect forms these 
wonderful cell-groups is an 
enigma to which not the 
least clew can be found. 
In proportion to the size of 
the architect they are sim- 
ply enormous, and yet the 
sides and angles are as true 
and just as if they were sin- 
gle cells. 

Very curious nests arc 
made by* several species of 



an insect belonging to t lie genus Imria. The*c 
nests, or rather these series uf cells, are 
made after a singular t*a»bi«>n. First, the in- 
sect attaches to the brain h a fool-stalk com- 
posed of the same that with which 
the cells are formed. This t<>«.t -t.ilk. although 
slender, is very hard, solid, and tough, und < an 
ujihold a con>idorable xx eight, a» i- ni'cr^rv 
from the manner of construe tiug the nest. She 
then makes a cell after the ordinan w asp-fash- 
ion, attaching it to the foot -talk with its mouth 
downward, and at first making it < •>mparativelv 
short. When the cell has nearly attained it* 
due length a second is placed alongside the 
first, and a third is added in like manner, eai h 
being lengthened as required. A» the cells at 
the base of the series are finished first it is ev- 
ident that they gradually diminish toward the 
end, those at the extremity being often not 
one quarter so long as tho>e at the base. 

The common Hive Bee desen'es our admira- 
tion on account of the wonderful manner in 
which it constructs its social home, and the 
method by which that home is regulated. Dot 
there is another insect, as well known by name, 
but with whose habits we are somewhat shv of 
attempting to become intimately familiar. This 
is the common Hornet, whose nest is almost in- 
variably built in hollow trees, deserted out- 
houses, and places of a similar description. 

Whenever the Hornet takes up its residence m 
nil inhabited house, as i* sometimes the case, 
t! • inmate- are sure to be in anus against the 
insect, and with go**l reason. Its sting is ex- 
ceedingly xenomou*. and it is popularly said 
that three hornets ran kill a man. Moreover, 
the Hornet is an ira-i iblc insect, and given to 
assault thov whom it f.:in u s are approac hing 
its nest with evil intentions. < onsenucntlx it 
i- a matter of no slight difficulty to obtain a 
nest, or to watch the process of its construc- 
tion. In the illustration is shown the exterior 
of a partially finished nest, and the manner in 
which the hornet^ enter at different parts. 
Hornets may be forced to build a much more 
l»eautiful nest than they ordinarily construct. 
One nest, when of moderate si/e. xx a- removed 
by a naturalist from the head of a tree, und 
placed in a large glazed box, within which the 
hornets continued their labors, and a most beau- 
tiful nest was produced, symmetrical in shape 
and variegated with wonderfully rich colors. 
In order, however, to produce this result i* ii 
necessary to select the richest -colored woods, 
and place them where the insects shall be in- 
duced to use them in the construction of their 
, nest. 

In the collection of the British Museum may 
be seen a very remarkable nest, which is made 
by some species of wasp at present unknown, 




but which may appropriately be called the Mud 
Wasp. It was found in a Guianan forest sus- 
pended to a branch, which passed through a 
hole in the solid walls of the nest. Unfortu- 
nately, in its passage to England, it was broken 
and much damaged, but the fragments were 
collected and skillfully put together, and the 
nest restored to its original shape, with the ex- 
ception of an aperture through which the in- 
terior may be seen. The material of which it 
is formed is mud, or clay, which is moulded by 
the insect until it has attained a wonderful te- 
nacity and strength, and is rendered so plastic 
as to be worked nearly as neatly as the waxen 
bee-cell. It is of rather a large size, measur- 
ing about thirteen inches in length, by nine in 
width, and filled with combs. A large quantity 
of clay is worked around the chosen branch, 
and made very strong, in order to sustain the 
heavy weight which will be suspended from it. 
This clay foundation is very hard, though brit- 
tle. One of the most remarkable points in the 
construction of this nest is the entrance. In 
pensile nests the insect usually forms the open- 
ing below, so that it may be sheltered from the 
wind and rain. Moreover, it is usually of small 
dimensions, evidently in order to prevent the 
inroads of parasitic insects and other foes, and 
to give the sentinels a small gateway to de- 
fend. But the particular wasp which built this 

remarkable nest seems to have set every rule 
at defiance, and to have shown an entire con- 
tempt of foes and indifference to rain. As 
may be seen by reference to the illustration, 
the entrance is extremely long, though not 
wide, and extends through nearly the length 
of the nest, so that the edges of the combs can 
be seen by looking into the aperture. The 
edges of the entrance are rounded, so that the 
outer edge is wider than the inner; but it is 
still sufficiently wide to allow the little finger 
of a man's hand to be passed into the interior ; 
while its length is so great that forty or fifty 
insects might enter or leave the nest together. 

The nest of the Pasteboard Wasp is suspend- 
ed to a branch, which passes through a hole or 
ring, so large that the structure is permitted to 
swing freely in the wind. The dimensions of 
the nest are variable, each one appearing to be 
capable of unlimited enlargement. The mode 
by which the wasps increase the size of their 
pensile home is equally simple and efficacious. 
When the number of the inhabitants becomes 
so large that a fresh series of cells is required, 
the insects enlarge their home with perfect 
ease, and at the same time without destroying 
its symmetry, a point which is often forgotten 
when human architects undertake the enlarge- 
ment of some fine old edifice. Taking the 
bottom of the nest as the starting-point, they 



st*r ««r tub Mit> tur. 

build upon it a series of cells, taking care t<» the new tier of i.-IK, nnd then the h<(ttnm in 
add another row or two to tin- « i re u inference, so cU**cd with a new floor, which in its tuni will 
as to iixTiM-o tin* diameter in pn»|»ortion to the Income, the ceiling of the next tier of edit, 
length. 'Ilicv then add fresh material to the An arerage neat is al>out one foot in length 
outer wnll, which is lengthened so as to include ; and of proportionate width ; hut now nnd then 

n j»o»iti\f giant « if a nest if. 
di- m rrcil w here the col- 
« » 1 1 y ha* lK?cn undisturbed, 
and circumstances ha\e 
l»ecn favorable to its in- 

n < Mie the largest. 

if not the very largest, of 
these pasteboard nests that 
has \et heen <li»covcred, 
was found in (Vvlon, at- 
tached to the inside of a 
huge palm -leaf, and wa* 
of the astonishing length 
of six feet. Now, to form 
an idea of a nest six feet in 
length is not very easy. It 
is so huge as scarcely to he 
credited except from actual 
sight. We all know how 
conspicuous among ordina- 
ry men is one who meas- 
ures six feet in height, and 
we shall form a hctter idea 
of the nest in question, if 
wc reckon it to be equal in 

m .-t ok the paste 




length to a "six-foot" man, and of course to 
occupy much more space on account of its bell- 
like shape. 

The members of the genus Polistes are in 
the habit of building their cells in the open air, 
and leaving them without covering to defend 
them. The species which make the cells rep- 
resented in the illustration is one of the most 
remarkable, both from the elegant form of the 
combs and the singular method of their attach- 
ment. Generally, the shape of the comb is near- 
ly round, as is seen in the upper figure of the il- 
lustration. The cells are remarkable for their 
radiating form, the bases being a trifle smaller 
than the mouths, a peculiarity which would 
hardly be noticed in a single cell, but which pro- 
duces the spreading outline when a number of 
them are massed together. Some of the cells are 
closed, indicating that the undeveloped insect 
is within. Now comes the curious part of the 
Vol. XXXIII.— No. 194.— M 

structure. The combs are not fastened direct- 
ly to the branches, but are attached to foot- 
stalks which spring from their centre, and are 
firmly cemented upon the branch or twig. How 
wonderfully the insect must manage the comb 
so that it shall be balanced on this slender foot- 
stalk ! To preserve the equilibrium of even an 
empty comb would be difficult enough, but when 
the cells are filled with fat, heavy grubs the dif- 
ficulty must be multiplied with every one. The 
foot-stalks are made of the same papier-mache- 
like substance as the cells, only the layers are 
so tightly compressed together that they form 
a hard, solid mass, very much like the little 
pillars which support the different stories of an 
ordinary wasp's nest, but of much greater size. 
The position of the combs is extremely vari- 
able, some being nearly horizontal, and others 
perpendicular, as shown in the illustration. 
These came from Bareilly, in the East Indies. 



» * § i 


]}l"BLIC nttenfi »n ha* rr i • j U«cn ml- 
. traded to the city of Lisbon by the unfor- 
tunate firing into the .Sii/nm from llelem 
Tower, and by the unusual frrqurnrv with 
which arrivals of our national rc»*rU are on- 
nounced at thi- j»>rt. 1 1, fore the rebellion our 
vessels of war seldom entered the Tagus ; now 
it is generally understood that the Kuropcan 
squadron will winter there. Convenient!* »itu- 
ated as a point of departure for the rflfaf ffln 
men ial countries of the Christian world, and 
possessed of uncqualcd natural advantages, it 
is remarkable that only (m at Britain should 
heretofore have made it a naval rendezvous. 
Our vessels, in times past, eon fined t<» the Medi- 
terranean, have had their head-quarter* at l'ort 
Malum in the Wand of Minorca, and more re- 

night old from onr own eonniry. emergencies 
anting in the Nofth and Writ, on the African 
coast, among the Atlantic i. hinds, the Went 
Indie*, and even in South America may Ik? far 
SON promptly attended to than though it were 
inside the Straits of (iihmltar, through which 
the onlv power* that are apt to give us offense 
could render exit difficult. The tame might 
be said in favor of Cadis — if not from time im- 
memorial at least from that of the I'hnpnieiana, 
who called it <»«dcs — the favorite entrepot of 
-> uthwestrrn K i r< )••• ; ! .t the I Jay id < adix is 
an unsheltered roadstead, visited at all seasons 

of the water, is always inconveniently distant 
fn»m the ship, while Lisbon is hut seven miles 

cently at Spczzia in Italy, but the necessity for above the mouth of the Tagus, where it aver 
watching rebel cruisers compelled them to seek ages from one to four miles in width, with an 
shelter and repair in the sea-ports of the west- anchorage always cosy of access, and, but a few 
ern coast, while the distrust with which we hundred yards from the quays of one of the 
must hereafter regard the movements of the great marts of the Old World, at which, how- 
great maritime powers will require us to keep a ever tempestuous the weather, it is never En- 

force in their waters on the alert to vindicate 
the national honor and authority 

possible to land. Were every thing else equal, 
the annoyances attending the quarantine at 

The advantage of having our chief naval Cadiz, which, as elsewhere within the Bp 
rendezvous nt Lisbon is evident. Being with- j dominions, is a disgrace to civilization, should 
in speedy telegraphic communication with all j decide men-of-war to prefer Lisbon, where no 
Europe, and receiving news less than a fort- | such inconveniences are experienced. 



Not many months ago, one of our vessels of 
war at Tangier, having been telegraphed that 
her presence was needed in the north of Europe, 
put into Cadiz to fill up with provisions from 
our own stores, and although a Spanish steamer, 
which had preceded her departure from Tangier 
and anticipated her arrival, was admitted to 
pratique, she was subjected to three days' quar- 
antine for not having obtained the Spanish Vice 
Consul's vise' to her bill of health, though Tan- 
gier was less than thirty miles distant, and no- 
toriously healthy, while coasting steamers traded 
daily between the two ports. The city officials 
were informed that the interests of our Govern- 
ment might be seriously compromised by any 
delay, yet the ship was detained three days for 
the non-observance of a municipal regulation, 
which it is an outrage to apply to any vessel of 
a national character. On another occasion a 
ship of war arrived with a clean bill of health 
from a port where Spain was not represented 
by any consular authority, yet the absence of 
the vise induced the visiting health-officer to 
order the yellow flag at her fore until the Coun- 
cil of Health could meet to determine whether 
it was proper to admit her. Were similar ex- 
actions made by other nations, a man-of-war 
would have to obtain the vises of all the consuls 
residing at every place from which she sailed, 
since she never clears for any port, but changes 
her destination as the interests of her flag re- 
quire. Happily this requirement is peculiar to 
Spain. Every where else the certificate of the 
surgeon, that the vessel is free from contagious 
and infectious diseases, and that she has not 
communicated with any other vessel or port 
where epidemics were prevailing, is satisfactory 
to the health officials, and is a much more ef- 
fectual guarantee of her sanitary condition than 
a bill of health, as it makes the surgeon direct-' 
ly responsible for the faithfulness of his report. 
The health-officers of Lisbon, who will be found 
courteous and obliging to the extent of making 
the visit at night to avoid causing unnecessary 
detention, refuse any other than such a state- 
ment by the senior medical officer. 

Lisbon is less known to Americans than many 
cities of minor interest. Situated beyond the 
ordinary routes of tourists' travel, and possess- 
ing little American trade, it is seldom visited 
for business or pleasure by our countrymen, 
who therefore rarely see it, except when, as 
passengers aboard the steamers to Brazil, they 
are carried there for the few hours' detention 
required for coaling. While it possesses a large 
resident English population, only half a dozen 
Americans have made it their home. Perhaps, 
therefore, a few notes of what is to be seen of 
greatest interest within its limits will not be 
out of place in a Magazine which has devoted 
so many pages to the description of strange 
places in every quarter of the globe. 

Lisboa is the Portuguese designation of the 
city, and the name should be so written in En- 
glish, there being no reason why foreign na- 
tions should vary the orthography of geograph- 

j ical terms. The Quaker City becomes "Fila- 
delfia" in Spanish ; we make "Vienna" out of 
Wien ; and many places altogether lose their 
identity in their passage into other tongues. 
"Lisboa," itself is asserted by Portuguese an- 
tiquarians to be a derivative from "Olisippo," 
a word of Phoenician origin, or of " Ulyssippo, " 
The City of Ulysses, who, it is said, was carried 
into the Tagus in the course of a stormy and 
dangerous voyage. Without resorting to poet- 
ic fable, authentic history establishes its many 
centuries. Whether first Phoenician or Gre- 
cian, it was subsequently Carthagenian ; then 
Roman, and called "Eelicitas Julias" by the 
Emperors; then Gothic, and styled "Lispo;" 
for hundreds of years afterward the property 
alternately of Christian and Moorish sovereigns, 
the latter softening its name to "Lisbo, " to 
which the ancestors of the present inheritors 
have added the final vowel. 

The city proper stretches three and a half 
miles along the western bank of the Tagus, or 
Tujo — its sparsely-built suburbs as many more 
— and extends irregularly inland an average 
breadth of a mile and a quarter, covering its 
seven principal hills with lofty houses, and 
streets so steep that steps are constructed in 
many of them to make travel through them pos- 
sible. The terrible earthquake of 1755 shook 
down seventeen thousand houses, and buried 
twenty-five thousand people ; but their survivors 
and descendants have rebuilt the ruined quar- 
ter more substantially than ever, and so ably 
repaired the human void that the population of 
the city has increased to more than three hun- 
dred thousand. 

The traveler, approaching Lisbon from sea- 
ward, begins his sight-seeing when Cape Roca 
(the Lisbon Rock of sailors) first looms up on 
the horizon. As the panorama, bounded at 
the southward and eastward by the lofty per- 
pendicular face of Cape Espichel, is brought 
nearer and nearer to him, he will discover some- 
thing novel and beautiful in every part of the 
landscape. The convent dome of Nossa Sen- 
hora da Penha glistens far up on the summit 
of the Hill of Cintra; the pretty villages of 
Guia and Cascars skirt the shore ; vegetation 
of every hue, fantastic rocks, vine-clad hills, 
ancient castles, and elegant creations of modern 
art and wealth, meet the eye wherever it rests. 
The scenery from the mouth of the river to the 
city is surpassingly beautiful, and whoever is 
fortunate enough to enter the "golden Tagus" 
on one of these bright days or glorious moonlit 
nights, here so numerous, will enjoy one of the 
loveliest spectacles in nature. The appearance 
of the city from the anchorage is very imposing. 
The several convent and castle-crowned hills 
are the back-ground of a picture, studded every 
where with picturesque freaks of nature, the 
ruins of the past and the industry of the pres- 

All these visions of beauty used to be dis- 
pelled on landing, but the stories of municipal 
and social neglect and uncleanness are no longer 



t UIU Ut lfc_"HA 

true. The refuse of the kif«hen, ihc stable, bari*m«. The word ■' r. /.'.»/.»•'. /'.//-.;. - i >oap, 
ami the factory d«n*s i>"t now obstruct the streets Snuff. I . m il.c - v n - < .t «>1 I n-.u st, ,n-s 
which are carefully swept at nitfht, hut, U'ing still indicate the places that used to he licensed 
macadamized, are «lu*>t v in summer and pa*ty by the Company to m-11 these articles, 
after rains. The cry agtQ i a no longer nf- The hit it tide of Lisbon is that of Washington, 
fright-* the belated pedestrian, who did not nl- hut the climates of the two places are unlike, 
ways escape the delude of what was not alto- The average temperature of the year is about 
gether water, which preceded rnther than fol- »'.u I '. ihn-nheit, a lower range of the thcrmome- 
lowed the warning. Soap ha* ....-.-d to Ihj ter and greater prevalence of rains and easterly 
contraband, and splendid floating baths attract stOOH alone denoting the winter season. It 
the thousands who t an not ath.rd fo \i*jt the never free/*-**, and few of the inhabitants have 
watering-places at the entrance of the river. c\er seen mow fall upon it. Artiii< ial heat is 
The revenues arising from soap and tobacco, I to little needed that scarcely any of the houses 
until a few years past, were v>M annually by arc built with chimney Hue." except in the kitch- 
the Government to u company, w hi< h appointed cn». where a small fire ordinarily suffices for 
its own agents to collect the import duties, the Portuguese cuisine. A few foreigners and 
The domestic manufacture of soap was pro- natives, who arc over-sensitive to the chilliness 
hibited under heavy penalties. Women were of a prolonged rnuiy season, warm their rooms 
subjected to the greatest indignities at the gates by gas-burners, and others have introduced 
by having their persons rudely .searched for con- stoves and furnaces, requiring an enonimn- 
cealed soap: and very recently several foreign pi|»e along the front wall to the roof, 
naval officers weie grievously insulted by to- j There is little architectural display, and 
bacco agents thrusting their hands in their no exclusively aristocratic quarter. Palaces, 
pockets to find a cigar that had not paid its tax. churches, and brothels stand side by side. 
The great wealth of the Company long enabled Houses arc generally five or six stories in 
them to control the Cortes, but an increasing height, roofed with tiles, and have plain stone 
desire to be clean at a cheap rate, and an un- or stucco fronts, with iron balconies and over- 
conquerable fondness for good cLmi-s. tinallv hanging shades at each window, where the 
triumphed; and the monopolies, which were as dark-eyed alfuzinhus (''salad-caters" — the fair 
disgraceful to Portugal as the quarantine is to Lisbonenses being inordinately fond of salad) 
Spain, were added to the list of abandoued bar- collect to watch the passers-by. 



There are no elegant stores in Lisbon. The 
Rua do Chiado — a short, broad street leading 
from the Praga do Camoes — and one or two still 
shorter thoroughfares connected with it, com- 
prise all the fashionable establishments for the 
sale of ladies' apparel ; but the display in the 
finest is not comparable to that of a third-rate 
store in New York. Save the red hand of the 
glover, the mammoth gilt tooth of the charla- 
tan dentist, and a few similar barbaric devices, 
little attempt is made at sigh-representation. 
A simple announcement of the name and trade 
of the proprietor is usually thought sufficient, 
unless he is privileged to exhibit the royal es- 
cutcheon, denoting that the inmates of the 
Palace have patronized him. In some in- 
stances not even the trade is expressed : a 
white cross on each door-post indicating the 
residence of the midwife, who here replaces 
the accoucheur, as a fluttering green cloth 
used to point out the barber-shop, and pieces 
of plain white paper on the window-panes still 
announce that the owner of the building has a 
room to let. Salesmen take as little trouble 
within to encourage purchases as the proprie- 
tor does by exterior allurements. The advent 
of a customer seldom calls the attendant from 
the farther end of the room, and when sought 
he waits leisurely for Madame to announce the 
article she seeks, which, being produced, she is 
expected to buy without cavil and carry away. 
The skillful sparring of smiling counter-jump- 
ers and hypercritical customers who make shop- 
ping a profession is unknown here. The po- 
lite demands and indignant remonstrances, the 

pleading for abatement of charge, the repeated 
assurances of rare quality and economic price, 
which create a ceaseless din in one of our large 
stores, are not heard at a Lisbon counter. 

Lack of energy characterizes this race. A 
people of frugal habits, and accustomed to sac- 
rifice fully a third of the year in the observance 
of religious feasts and royal anniversaries, can 
not be expected to exhibit the activity and 
vigor of the hardier Saxon and Celt, whose 
more unfruitful lands compel them to labor or 
starve. Amanha ("To-morrow") and Tenha 
paciencia ("Have patience") are the only re- 
plies your tailor, your bootmaker, or your laun- 
dress will make for keeping you waiting week 
after week for articles they will finish in a day 
when they make the effort to begin, and the 
stranger will cheerfully resign himself to his 
washer-woman's dilatoriness if he can be satis- 
fied that her son has not enjoyed a week's wear 
of his linen in the interim. 

The habits of life of the Portuguese depart 
altogether from an American standard. They 
neither live, eat, dress, nor are buried as we 
are. Every American, however humble his 
lot, aspires to occupy his own castle, and sons 
and daughters quit the paternal roof with un- 
seemly and regretted haste to begin their own 
establishments. In Lisbon only the wealthier 
nobles and a few very rich merchants occupy 
an entire house, which is then styled a "pal- 
ace." Few houses are less than five stories in 
height. The ground-floor is almost always ap- 
propriated to stores, and each story; or andar, 
above is subdivided into suits of rooms, occu- 




pied by different families, whence it hap|>ens 
that communities of very diwimiU u r oharaffW 
dwell under the same roof, while the general 
stairway, being the subjc< t of no one person's 
care, is* always dirty and unlighted. There i- 
no porter's lodge, as in Franee, the common 
entrance from the street being opened at night, 
when only it is closed, by a sesame of loud nips 
corresponding in number to the floor on which 
lives the person sought, whose servant is -pared 
the trouble of descent from these sti)>crnal re- 
gion! by a scries of cords leading from each 
suit of apartnu nt- to the latch. It is nu in- 
genious means of >a\ ing lab<»r; but it produce* 
an alarming effect on the timid strung t. who 
is conducted for the first time up a dimly- 
lighted street to a huge iron-bound door, hears 
four or live mysterious raps. f..lh wed by the 
opening of the door by unseen hand*, and i* 
made to follow his condm tor up a dark stair- 
case till he sees a light flickering through a 
little square grating, and lutein to the »harp 
eh -illcngc, Qutm tt ("Who is it?") and 
qnerf (" What do you want ?") The reply mi- 
isfactory, huge bolts slide ha L. the massive 
door swings open, a nccond i* unfolded, and the 
visitor introduced into gayly-furui*hcd, brill- 
iantly-lighted parlor*, where the polite*! peo- 
ple in Kuropc are waiting to give him a kind, 
hospitable welcome. The police are eftVient, 
and the garrotc not an institution, eUc it would 
l>c a risksomc venture to mount these silent, 
dark stairways, with no other guide than the 
kilusters and the recollect iou of the lauding 
stages passed. 

Assassinations were once rife in the streets, 
but at present there i» no more orderly city in 
the world. There are no great drinking m- 
loons to send forth gang* of brawlers. The 
Lisbon gentleman, after dinner, frequents his 
favorite cafe, drink* hi* harnilc** cup of entice 
or thimbleful of cognac, smoke* a cigarette, 
and wastes an hour <>r two at dominoes or bill- 
iards. Only when a British man -of war gives 
general liberty to her crew it the pedestrian 
apt to be jostled from the nt by reeling 

drunkards, and they. fortunately, seldom stray 
far from the Knglish chop house* by the river- 
side, where the vile stuff is sold which steals 
away their brain-. 

The people of Lisbon are pcrhap* better 
dressed than any when- eUe in Kuropc, though 
the smallness of their incomes coui|>cl* them 
to maintain their tine exterior by the sacrifice 
of many items of domestic comfort. Neatness 
of attire characterizes all classes but the beg- 
gars, who affect rags nnd tilth. These and a 
brass badge stamped with the letter M \ Jf -,- 
<Ji;/o), and a number indicating their lic-nsc to 
importune you at every corner for 44 a little 
something for the love of God," are regarded 
by the experienced as signs of danger, to be 
avoided by an Abrupt change of direction. The 
unlucky stranger who stops to bestow alms on 
the pobre miserable is dogged by a score of oth- 
ers who have witnessed this evidence of a ten- 

der heart. Pity soon becomes banished from 
the brvust in LisUui. Woeful lamentations, for 
which the nasals of the Poi.i ,'uese language 
so well adapt it. are whined forth in tones to 
melt the heart of even one who does not un- 
derstand the meaning of the words; but men- 
dicancy is ji profession, and these are its mas- 
ter*, who have studied to give expression to 
misery as closely a* has the tragedian to por- 
tray the passions of men. The waitings of 
pretty little children about the places of amuse- 
ment at midnight appeal to those who are in- 
sensible to the demand* of older artists ; yet 
nine limes in ten the cimco rrijumhtu ("little 
half-cent") solicited goes to swell the horde of 
the miserly crone who has hired the little act- 
ress for a pittance. The veiled beggar*, who 
come quietly upon you from the shadow of 
Mime dark disorwa* late at night, profess to U» 
women of respectable birth and station, driven 
by want to solicit charity, and yet tin) modest 
or loo proud lo expose their features, Pov- 
erty and ignorance drive the lowest grade* of 
society in every country to acts of self -degra- 
dation ; but humanity i* nowhere more out- 
than lu re, where inhuman mother* raf- 
fle their innocent daughter* among the dissi- 
pated scion* of ariatocratic families. Among 
the fairett hcautic* who sit in the primrro o 
at the ojK-ra may 1st m-cii one more fortunate 
than her *i*tcr victims in thin infamou* lottery, 
who, having gained the affection of the youth 
who won her, was educated by him and finally 

The Portuguese are even more rircum«»»oet- 
ly polite than the French. Strangers will not 

i* of all da**cs of this coiumuuitv. (icutlc* 
men invariably mIuIo when they enter a room, 
wheresoever it may be, and whether or not 
they recognise acquaintance*. A bow and 
" M iv liod be with vou ,M or " Have tiatience 
friend!" are the only rebuff* addressed to the 
most importunate beggar, who receive* it with 
a sigh and upturned eye*, when the ruder Kn- 

of abuse that is taken up from corner to comer 
by the incensed fraternity. Certainly it is 
pleasant to see so much attention paid to the 
little courte*ic* of life, though, carried to the 
extent of formal ceremonial, it is apt to sug- 
gest a doubt of its sincerity. 

It is a fearful undertaking for an American 
to enter a parlor, approach the sofa flanked by 
chairs, forming three sides of u parallelogram, 
where the ladies arc scutcd together, and exe- 
cute the proj>er uumbcr of bows and utter the 
proj>cr number of felicitations, with due re- 
gard to the rank and precedence of the fair; 
and the performance is none the easier when 
the room is darkened for the eight days as- 
signed by Portuguese etiquette to the recep- 
tion of visits of condolence after a death in the 
family. Every woman, except a menial, is an 
/.., r< -j ■ ctability having nothing to do 

with her right to the title. Madame 's letters 


must be addressed to the Illustrissima e Excel- 
lentissima Senhora ( ' ' Most Illustrious and Most 
Excellent Lady"). No more serious affront 
can be given than to employ a form of address 
applicable to a lower grade of society ; and, 
therefore, to be considered well-bred, foreign- 
ers must learn when to say, "Your Excellency," 
"Your Lordship, " " Sir," or " Your Worship :" 
to which last even a servant is entitled, unless 
admitted to the more familiar household tu 
(" thou"). Among men only the higher ranks 
of nobles are JExcelknzas, and only very inti- 
mate male friends hug and kiss each other on 

Nearly all the servants in Lisbon come from 
the Spanish province of Galicia, adjoining Por- 
tugal on the north. No Portuguese will de- 
mean himself to carry a bundle, but will step 
to the door, and, uttering a peculiar hish, sum- 
mon a Gallego, who is ever ready, bag on shoul- 
der, to perform any service required. As a 
class, they are justly renowned for their hon- 
esty and integrity, and may be confided with 
any mission, however* delicate, as many a fair 
intriguante can testify. The female domestics 
are remarkable for their peculiar costume — a 
heavy cloth cloak with cape, and a white hand- 
kerchief tied under the chin instead of a bon- 
net, both being worn on all occasions and at 
all seasons, even throughout the hottest sum- 
mer. Having first obtained a cloak, which, 
from the costliness of the material and their 
scanty wages (two to four dollars a month), 
requires the labor of years, they devote their 
savings to the acquisition of expensive jewelry. 
The capote of every middle-aged Gallcga con- 
ceals the neck hung around with heavy gold 
chains, and fingers thickly decked with rings. 

The Gallegos are literally the hewers of 
wood and drawers of water of Lisbon, the lat- 
ter being supplied to the city from numerous 
public fountains, at which hundreds of water- 
carriers fill their little kegs, from which they 
supply their patrons as. regularly as the baker 
and milkman. A municipal ordinance re- 
quires every water-carrier to fill his cask be- 
fore going to bed, to be kept in readiness for 
fires. They are the only fire brigade. For- 
tunately their services are seldom needed, the 
few fires kept in the houses rendering confla- 
grations of rare occurrence, and the little hand- 
pumps, supplied from the casks, being feeble 
opponents to a serious fire. The city was 
burned down in 1372 by Henriques of Castile 
to avenge the repudiation of his daughter by 
her husband, the Portuguese monarch ; m and 
during the great calamity of 1755 fire de- 
stroyed most of what the earthquake had left 

The principal place of debarkation is at the 
site where this awful catastrophe created its 
greatest ravages, rather above midway of the 
city proper, at the magnificent Praga do Com- 
mercio, called by the English, who bestow names 
every where to suit themselves, Black Horse 
Square, from the bronze statue of King Jose 

T LISBON. 175 

L, whose reign, about the time of our Revolu- 
tion, was made historic by the ambition and 
energy of his minister, the celebrated Marquis 
of Pombal. Forty tons of bronze, supported 
on either side by a marble horse and elephant, 
sculptured of equal size for the sake of sym- 
metry, do honor to the sovereign ; while a little 
bronze medallion at his feet, alternately re- 
moved and replaced by friends and enemies, is 
the only memorial of the far greater minister. 
The Square is a paved parallelogram, five hun- 
dred and fifty feet wide by six hundred and 
fifteen long, and is surrounded by the build- 
ings of the Arsenal da Marinha, or navy-yard ; 
the A Ifandega, or Custom-house; the Exchange, 
and India House — massive structures, which 
make this one of the finest quarters of the city, 
and the centre of its commercial activity. 

The boatmen, who are a race of good-natured 
vagabonds, having no other homes than their 
boats, and no other beds than the bare stones, 
usually land strangers at the Cues do Sodre, on 
the Praga dos Romulares — a little square, tessel- 
ated, after the fashion of the place, in pretty 
patterns of white and black stones. Most of 
the commercial agencies, steamship offices, 
bankers, and the two principal hotels are in 
this vicinity. Of the latter the Braganga at- 
tracts Englishmen, and the Grand Hotel Cen- 
tral the travelers of most other nationalities. 
The tables are well kept at both ; and the 
stranger, interested in seeing the source whence 
they are so abundantly supplied, may satisfac- 
torily employ an hour or two before breakfast 
among the markets, which are but a few blocks 
farther down the river. A cup of coffee in any 
of the ever-open cafes, and then a few bunches 
of luscious grapes, a fresh and juicy orange, or 
tangerine, or a delicate banana eaten at the 
stalls, will dispose him to await amicably the 
somewhat tardy morning meal. Lisbon is 
justly celebrated for its fish, among which 
Americans will rejoice to recognize their fa- 
vorite table-friend, the shad, one of the few 
articles of food obtainable abroad quite as 
good as at home. 

A short walk along the street bounding the 
Arsenal, by the lottery - offices, where each 
temptingly displays the record of its prizes in 
long columns of red and black figures, bewil- 
deringly abundant from the smallness of the 
unit of Portuguese currency, the re being the 
equivalent of a "mill," and through the Praga 
do Pelourinho, where a globe of iron rings, sur- 
mounting a curiously twisted marble column, 
covers the spot on which the heads of state 
criminals and inquisitors' victims were exposed 
to public view, conducts back to the Praga do 
Commercio, trending northward from which are 
three parallel wide streets, the Rua Aurea, R. 
Augusta, and R. Bella da Rainha — named by the 
English, who have here again imposed their 
nomenclature where it only serves to embar- 
rass strangers, Gold, Silver, and Cloth streets, 
from the number of dealers in goods of those 
descriptions who have located themselves in 



each respectively. This segregation of trades, 
so remarkable in Chinese iitu«, is obscnahlc 
to a certain extent in I.i-Imhj, ami gave name 
originally to many of tlx* xtrcets, the Una dot 
Snji'iti tins being i liirih jm « pl«-.| by shoemakers, 
the A*. «/•<<> Ikturadorts by gilders, ami the H. 
dos Cbnfeiteros by confectioners. Stranger* 
may well regret that Mich a simplicity of ar- 
rangement has nut characterized the naming 
of street- elsewhere. Nmiio of the !im*t ami 
longest' > ir. baptized anew ever* 
few blocks with names the mo»t di«*imilar and 
unmanageable. The Rua JJirrtta do Sacra- 

mtnto bee. .lues the < . : / j Jtl I 'lUifiml/ta, and 

two blocks farther on & Ihmta iU Sam Fram- 
cisco de Paula, then B. Direita das Janrllat 
Wrdts, ami a.ssumes fne oth< r iuctauiorpb#JtM 
within a quartet of a mile, before it* career it 

The length of a name is no indication of the 
extent of the street, for the Cal;adt nova do Cun- 
vento do Coracao de Jesus is only a few hundred 
feet long, and the R«a da Sai.ta A/mit da lioa 
Morte extends just two squares. N". r will it 
do to omit half this surplusage of name, since 
the Rua Direita de Buenos Ayrts, if simph 
called R. Dinita. a straight street, would be 
confounded with the R. Jjinita </< Sao Fran- 
ciseo da Cidade, and the latter, unless the saint 'fl 
attributes are fully expressed, with the IL Di- 
reita de Sao Francisco de Sales, R. Dir. de Sao 
Francisco de Borja, and R. Dir. de S. Francisco 
de Paula. Even the word rua must be speci- 
fied to distinguish from the becos, larr/os, tra- 

IS, pracaM, camimhoi, calradat, and fstnulax, 
which often Uar the name designation. Saint 
Iv and h 'lv name* enter largely into every sys 
(etn uf nomenclature, and sometimes hlasphu 
m«iu»lv. a«» when Mich c\prc«u>ion« as Curacao 
At JtsuM ("Heart of Jesus"), Madrt tie J Mo* 
" Mother "I l ;«h|" t, and /■:»/>!>, to Santo ( Hoh 
Ghost"}, are applied to place* only remarkable 
for the misery and IteeiitiouMicss of their in 

The unerennes* of the land necessitates a 
great irregularity in the plan « if the city. The 
• dder portions arc made up of narrow lanes and 

■ . . !■ l 1 1 :. • . . . harai t< r *tic of 1 1 • • ir ccntu 

Here the houaei are lofty, the streets wide and 

I. .i:i.l :•: id;. "! l!ie stores, piirtn ularh lliosc 
• if the jewelers and silversmiths on (iold and 
Silver street-, very neat an-1 pretty. Block 
arter block of these little jewel-boxes, no like 
in arrangement, contents, and attendants that 
they are only distinguishable by the number 
of the building, tempt the passer with rings, 
chains, bracelets, brooches, and silver purses 
of the same patterns, which have l>ccn repeated 
• \ generations of workmen, but are valuable 
mi aceount of the tinene-s of tiieir material. 
The jicnalties indicted for selling the precious 
metaU below the standard alloy are so severe 
that the purchaser may buy without fear of be- 
ing cheated, paying only a small percentage 
additional to the actual value of the metal 00B 



Two large open squares, separated from each 
other by a row of buildings, terminate these 
streets. That to the eastward is the Praga da 
Figueira, the pretty flower and fruit market, 
surrounded on its four sides by little stalls 
teeming with olives, oranges, tangerines, ba- 
nanas, lemons, citrons, figs, almonds, and 
dates, the air fragrant with the perfume of an 
abundance of flowers, and noisy from the chat- 
tering of hundreds of bright-eyed, saucy coun- 
try girls, who dispense gratuitous smiles and 
badinage upon the purchasers of their flowers, 
or, if these be wanting, amuse themselves by 
bantering each other. The other, approached 
from the Rua Amea or R. Augusta, is the Praga 
do Rocio, or the Square of Dom Pedro I., beau- 
tifully paved with waved lines of black and 
white stones, and a favorite evening prome- 
nade. The pedestal for a monument to this 
illustrious ex-king, ex-emperor, and ex-regent, 
who voluntarily abdicated three successive 
thrones, stands in the centre, but the monu- 
ment is wanting, his- spouse the dowager Em- 
press of Brazil, surviving daughter of Eugene 
de Beauharnais, refusing to contribute toward 
it from her ample means unless her dead lord 
is mounted on horseback like his predecessor 
Dom Jose, who rides his black steed in the 
Praga do Commercio at the other end of the 
street, while the Cortes insist or: representing 
him standing erect, as more becoming a mon- 
arch renowned rather as legislator than soldier. 
His daughter, the late Queen Dona Maria II. 
{da Gloria), is commemorated by a splendid 
vheatre, erected at the northern end of the 

square, upon the site of the old Inquisition 

Overlooking Dom Pedro Square, on the one 
hand, are the picturesque ruins of the Carmo, 
the convent of the Carmelite monks, which was 
erected in 1389, and on the other the Castello 
or Castle of St. George, whence the best coup 
dozil of the city, harbor, and surrounding coun- 
try may be obtained. 

Beyond the Rocio is the beautiful Passeio 
Publico, the public promenade, where, during 
the months that the Sao Carlos is not in oper- 
atic blast, the public are entertained by excel- 
lent music from three superior bands, which 
play alternately, while the crowd pass up and 
down the brilliantly-lighted central walk, which 
is more than a quarter of a mile long. A small 
charge at the gate excludes the rabble ; and the 
beneficiaries of the Asylo da Mendicidade col- 
lect a considerable revenue for their institution 
by renting chairs for a few pence to the tired 
promenaders. Strangers will find the Passeio 
Publico always a delightful resort, and, in the 
heat of summer, will pass many a pleasant hour 
under the shaded trees beside its fountains. 
The people of Lisbon in general possess con- 
siderable taste for music. The audience of the 
Sao Carlos is one of the most critical in Eu- 
rope. No performer is tolerated on its stage 
if found unworthy after a sufficient allowance 
has been made for diffidence and inexperience. 
Its five tiers are partitioned into little boxes, 
in the seclusion of which the devotee may, for 
a moderate charge, listen to the finest produc- 
tions of the masters without the etiquette of 




full dress. The wives ami mistresses of the 
great nobles and their wealthy imitators, here 
as elsewhere, delight to display the treasures of 
their jewel-caskets and wardrobes — the irift and 
mistress of the same man often vis-a-vis and 
equally notorious— but the parquet to and up- 
per-circles are erowded with an intelligent au- 
ditory, intent upon the performance, whose 
countenances exhibit, by ouc general svmpa- 
thetic expression of disapproval, every faulty 
departure from the score of the composer. 

Surveying the audience at the opera, or in- 
deed at any other place of public- entertain- 
ment) Americans will at once be struck with 
the not infrequent uppearanee, e\en among the 
first circles, of very dusky negroes from Brazil 
and the African settlements, generally accom- 
panied by beautiful white wives, more fair by 
contrast with their swarthy lords. These ore 
usually magnates of the -hoe -trade, which is 
indebted to Portuguese rather than to Spanish 
subjects for its vitality. They are\cd on 
a footing of perfect equality, and their chil- 
dren may be met in the street - every day. walk- 
ing hand in hand with their white m bool fel- 
lows. Thick lips, in. so*, ret cb-nt forehead*, 
and taw ny complexions attest the frequency of 
miscegenation, though pcrbaps not so common 
here as in Brazil. Time will determine whether 
the resulting mixture present* the hvhrid char- 
acteristics ut the people of Mexico and Pern, 
where races less dissimilar than the white and 
black have mingled their blood for centime*. 

Besides the concerts at the {\ttmm, tho fltm 
cral public is entertained with iiiumc by a mil- 
i ary baud, every Sundav afternoon, in the 
Estrtlla Harden, a park of considerable extent, 
laid out with scr]»ciitiiic graveled walks and 
adorned with artificial hills, hikes, grottoes, 
swans, and deer. The services at the Kngli»h 
c Impel of St. George, erected on the ground* 
of the I'rotcsMin . v 1 1 1. : . i\ adjoining the gar- 
den, finish as the music begins outdoor*; *o 
that the stranger, if disposed to be s Komon in 
Koine, may cpiit the sauctuarv for a promenade 
among the sen boras to the symphonic* of the 
opera. The ccnictcrv is wrv math arrange d, 
and possesses a large grove of magnificent < v- 
presses, which are \isible at a considerable dis- 
tance. The remains of Fielding and DodwOfltk 
are interred here. 

There are several other interesting park* in 
Lisbon. The J'rara tit Sau J'tdrx, d\\l<anttira, 
a finely-shaded promenade, w ith a shell grotto 
and fountain, affords an excellent view of the 
better portion of the city and harbor. The 
Catupo Urandc, which is a mile long, with a 
carriage-road all around it. is pleasantly situ- 
ated, a little distance out of town, for an after- 
noon drive or ride on horseback. At the 
Campo de Santa Anna there is held, once a 
week, the Feria da Ladra, or Rag Fair, at w hic h 
all sorts of discarded garments and used-up 
furniture, odd pieces of glass-ware and crock- 
ery, bits of iron, cloth, and refuse of every kind, 
are offered for sale; and every Sunday, in the 

' adjoining Prac-a d s /' .;,-. there may be wit- 
nessed a Portuguese bull-tight — a much less 
brutal exhibition than the Spanish, since the 
bull s horns are sawn off and padded, to pre- 
vent the wounding of the men and horses. 
Sometimes a verv savage and powerful animal 
succeeds in trampling to death an unlucky pica- 
dor, whose iron-clad trousers hinder him from 
escaping by tlight should his horse fall. 

The Botanic al Gardens, near the suburbs of 
Bclem, are laid out with much taste, and pos- 
s< *s a very large collection of indigenous and 
exotic- plants. Two grotesque military statues, 
of reputed Phaniciun origin, dug up on the 
grounds more than a hundred vears ago, are 
among the curiosities exhibited. 

Lisbon is thicklv studded with churches and 
conventual establishments. In 1 SJO there were 
one hundred and twenty-one religious edifice* 
within the city limits. They crown all the 
hi IK and constitute a prominent feature in the 
lands. a|H« s,-, u from the anchorage. Few of 
them p. .sms* any architectural merit. The 
most Itcautiful is probably the church and con- 
vent of Srio (irrottynif, at Bile in, whi.h was 

c ommenced by the greet Mennel in 1499, at 

the s.te w|.e|,e V.i-.,. tla ( oilllU CUlbatked for 

those discoveries in India which gave his royal 
! ;lst« i pr« t. \t t. ; < litithug lilllis«-lt *• King of 
Portugal and of the Algarve*. here and Ik* \ olid 
the m ;i in Alrica, Lord <'t (itiiuea. and of the 
conquest, na\igi!iou. and <om metre of Kthl- 
lopia, Arabia, Tenia, and India" — of whic h 
I grandiloquence all that remain* fo hi* succc*s- 

onc of the latter being an insignificant rettle- 
meiit on the African coast, and the other only 
the southern province of the- kingdom of Por- 
tugal — both kingdom* together *eurccly ex- 
ceeding the .State of Kentucky in area. The 
cloiiitcr* of this convent are among the most 
beautiful on the Continent, and the columns 
which support the roof of the church are so 
light, and apparently unable to sustain the 
superuu iimU nt weight, that the scaffolding 

1 around them was removed by felons, who were 
promised hUilv as their reward for exposing 
themselves to «o great a danger. The door- 
wav o| the c hurch is a splendid Gothic urch. 
w ith lifc-*izc statues of the Apostles, rising one 
above the other to it* apex. 

The churc h of the Heart of .Jesus ( f',,rarao 
dt Jesus), on the summit of the- Estrelli Hill. 

• and facing the Garden-, is built in imitation of 
St. Peter's, without the colonnade. its tine 
d' me i- the only one of any pretension in the 

The little church of Sao limine, notwith- 

1 7 

-landing its unostentatious exterior, attrac ts 
more visitor* than any other by its wonderful 
chapel of St. John, built by Joao V., because 
his patron saint had no church nor chapel wf 
I his own in all the city, and enriched beyond the 
| value of many an entire church. The bac k and 
-ides of the chapel arc formed principally by 
i three large mosaics, copies of the actual si/.c of 



Michael Angelo's Baptism of Christ, Guido's 
Annunciation, and Raphael Urbino's Descent 
of the Holy Ghost; and so perfect, that it is 
necessary to ascend a ladder to be assured that 
they are not paintings. An elaborate mosaic 
constitutes the floor of the chapel, and beauti- 
fully-carved panels of Carrara marble the ceil- 
ing. Eight columns of lapis-lazuli surround 
t-he altar, which is composed of large masses 
of amethyst, Egyptian alabaster, granite, cor- 
nelian, verde-antique, Roman marble, porphy- 
ry, and jauf. The metal ornaments are heavily 
gilded ; the hanging lamps, and two monster 
candlesticks are of solid silver. The chapel 
was set up in Rome, and blessed by Pope Ben- 
edict XIV., who celebrated a mass within it 
before it was transferred to its present site, 
where its millions have ever since lain idle, 
which might far better have been devoted to 
the establishment of public schools and libra- 
ries, that would have banished so much poverty 
and vice from this land, and at the same time 
have been a nobler monument to the saint. 

The church of Sao Domingo, near the Rocio, 
is the present see of the Cardinal Patriarch, 
who is the head of the Church in Portugal, and 
is of such great size that it invited desecration 
by the French Marshal Junot, who quartered 
and drilled a regiment upon its floor. 

At Sao Vicente, which is the mortuary church 
of the House of Braganca, are collected all but 
two of the defunct members of the reigning 
royal family, piled away in gilt-trimmed trunk- 
like boxes, on an elevated platform around the 
vault, the late king occupying a catafalque in 
the centre, until a successor crowds him into a 
less honored place. The church itself, like 
the memorable cape, derives its name from the 
martyr St. Vincent, whose body is interred at 
the Cathedral, where a pair of ravens are kept, 
in commemoration of the miraculous birds 
which guided the saint during his pilgrimage. 

With profound reverence for the traditions 
of their religion, boasting of their city as the 
birth-place of live canonized saints — among 
them St. Anthony — and one Pope (John 
XXII.), observing scrupulously all the festi- 
vals of the church — every head uncovered, ev- 
ery knee bent to the ground as the host ap- 
proaches ; even the theatres stopping their 
performances when the bell is heard announc- 
ing the passing viaticum — the people of Lisbon 
are still very liberal in religious matters. Their 
educated classes exercise unrestrained license 
in criticising the ministers of their faith, who 
are too often amenable to charges of hypocrisy 
and licentiousness. They applauded their King 
for allying himself by marriage with the ex- 
communicated Victor Emanuel, and joyfully 
acquiesced in the expulsion of the Jesuits and 
the suppression of the convents. Thousands 
of the best citizens are active and zealous mem- 
bers of the masonic fraternity, notwithstanding 
the papal interdiction. A Protestant chapel 
and burial-place cast their shadows over one 
of their most venerated temples, and crowds 

of curious natives unhesitatingly enter and 
decorously witness the manner of heretic wor- 
ship. The despoiled priests and their bigoted 
adherents attribute the decadence of their na- 
tion to the sacrilege committed in transferring 
the sacred candlesticks and chalices to the 
mint, and in occupying the vacant conventual 
establishments as schools, asylums, hospitals, 
barracks, libraries, and similar institutions. 
The great number of these found available for 
such purposes is the explanation of the absence 
of public buildings. Very few of the latter 
have been specially designed for their purpose. 
The Naval Arsenal, Exchange, Custom-house, 
and India House, and the recently-finished 
Polytechnic School, are splendid structures. 
The Mint, Bank of Portugal, and S. Carlos 
Opera House, which, receiving an annual sub- 
sidy of twenty thousand milreis from the Gov- 
ernment, should be regarded as a national 
rather than a private institution, are unattract- 
ive edifices. The Cortes still meet in the old 
convent of Sao Bento, where the fine library 
of the Torre do Tombo, with its treasures of 
rare editions and old manuscripts, will be found 
interesting even by those not learned in archae- 
ology. The hundred and fifty thousand vol- 
umes of the Public Library are huddled to- 
gether in the cells and corridors of the old 
Franciscan convent, and as many more man- 
uscripts are piled away in its loft. The col- 
lection of coins belonging to this library is very 
large and very valuable and almost equally 
prized is a case believed to contain a copy of 
every edition in every language (though there 
is none with an American imprint), of the Lu- 
siad of Camoes, who is especially revered in 
Lisbon as a native of the city. A statue is 
about being erected to him on the little praca, 
bearing his name at the beginning of the Rua 
do Chiado. 

The Santa Cara da Misericordia, adjoining 
and connected with St. Roque's, is the home of 
two thousand foundlings, and one of the noblest 
charities of the city — an institution which Amer- 
icans refuse to tolerate, though even their re- 
ligious newspapers advertise the detestable nos- 
trums and infamous callings which are its in- 
evitable substitutes. Better far the little win- 
dow, with exposiios painted on its lintel, where 
the open mouth of a revolving cylinder is ever 
ready to receive the fatherless infant, who passes 
from the mother, who can not, dare not, or will 
not nurture it, to the tender care of those good 
sisters of the unfortunate, who, actuated by 
whatever amount of mistaken zeal, fill the 
measure of their lives with doing so much good 
that the church may well be proud of them, 
than the too well-known sign of the false phy- 
sician which, in every one of our great cities, 
allures the poor sinner to death or deeper guilt. 
Better, too, the •municipal supervision of the 
social evil and the biweekly sanitary inspections, 
required by the health officers of Lisbon, which 
have banished the black lion and her whelps 
from this part of Portugal, once their favorite 



tii« nun ««r ajvva 

lair, than that the undying poi*on-trce ihoulJ 
son<l its roots through the whole substratum (I 
society, and cast its baneful shadow orer the 
lives tit' the young, dou I to the third and fourth 
generation of those w ho l.a\ c eaten of it h fruit, 
Lishon is abundantly supplied with royal res- 
iliences. Ascending the river, the most prom- 
inent object in the view, after the range of 
wind mill covered hills, is the J'afart of the 
Ajutla, itself an immense building, though only 
the eastern wing of uu enormous edifice pro- 
jected to accommodate the royal family, the 
Cortes, officers of state, and diplomatic corps. 
The unfinished face, where it was to ha\e been 
connected w ith the main building, l<»oks to the 
westward, and, for many years. Ins U-en onlv 
roughly boarded up, exhibiting a strange dis- 
play ot royal pomp and national penury. The 
hope of completing the palate. .., ... - K -iied, has 
been abandoned, yet the authorities refuse to 
appropriate the sum required to cover in the 
exposed end. The palace, which was the fa- 
VOritC home of the royal family until death vis- 
ited it so often, was tliat of the N&Bmmda<l> *, 
the singular name of which gave a foreign min- 
ister occasion to exclaim : " What good can l*e 
expected of a country where the monarch lives 
in the Palace of Want (J\i/ano das \, .•«>.<, du- 
des), the Minister in Thieves' Lane (Travessa 
das Ladrois). and w here the height of pleasure 
{alto dos prazeres), belongs to the coffined dead." 
The royal family lias dwindled down to the fa- 
ther, brother, and grandmother of the King, and 
two sisters married to petty German priii R, 

The late king, Pedro V., his wife, and two 
brothers, died within a few months of each oth- 
i r. I- beved b\ many to U« the \|ctim» of Mi- 
guelite poison, but more probably of that con- 

inccstuous connections. Intermarriage of un- 
cles with nieces nnd of nephews with aunts, is 
not uncommon iu Portuguese society. It oc- 
curred in the case of .Manu I. and Pedro IV., 
and many estimable jK-ople declare that if Dom 
Miguel had not broken faith with his tx-trothed 
niece, the \ I'ting Manu II., the revolution would 
not hate t,< i urred, and Portugal not been di- 
\ ided between two factious, which hate each 
other cordially, ami represent each other with 
oAses' ears. 

There arc several other spacious palaces 
within the city, ami a number of summer resorts 
U-votul its limits. Those at ( intra ami Mafra 
arc especially worthy of l#cing seen. The pal- 
ace oft intra is disfigured by two immense chim- 
ney-like towers, which give it the appearance 
of a factory. The great saloon i« surrounded 

sent the dishonored families of the attempted 

assassin* '■' »e I.. u h knightly bearings 

l.a\e Leeii here blotted out, a- their ver\ dwell- 
ing- were razed to tiie ground. Strangers are 
nl*o shown the room where AfTonso VI. won- 
out the floor by pacing up and down during 
fifteen years' imprisonment, for no greater of- 
fense than physical incapacity. 

The palace is the least of the attractions of 



Cintra. Childe Harold, long ago, confessed 
his inability to describe the munificence of na- 
ture's riches in this region : 

"Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes 
In variegated maze of mount and glen. 
Ah, me ! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, 
To follow half on which the eye dilates, 
Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken 
Than those whereof such things the bard relates, 
Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's gates. 

u The horrid crags by toppling convent crown'd, 
The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, 
The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, 
The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, 
The tender azure of the unruffled deep, 
The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, 
The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, 
The vine on high, the willow branch below, 

Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.'" 

Surmounting the loftiest peak of the coast 
range at an elevation of nineteen hundred feet 
stands Penha Castle, an old convent converted 
into a quinta by Dom Fernando II., the father 
of the late and reigning kings and regent dur- 
ing their minority. He is personally the most 
popular individual in Lisbon. Whenever his 
tall form is recognized people hasten to throw 
themselves in his way to receive the salutation 
he is always prompt to return. When political 
disputes raged so fiercely that civil government 
was almost completely suspended, Dom Fernan- 
do was the only person who could safely walk 
the streets at night without a guard. His late 
refusal of the crown of Greece has considerably 
augmented his popularity, though it would have 
been a most unwise act for a man, who is re- 
garded as clear-headed as his cousin, the late 
Prince Albert, to surrender his present enor- 
mous incomes and kingly comforts for the an- 
noyances and anxieties of an insecure throne. 
Exceedingly well educated, able to address 
seven or eight foreign Ministers in their own 
languages, accomplished as a musician and art- 
ist, he has identified himself with the progress- 
ive movements of the age, patronizes institu- 
tions of learning, and has filled his palace at 
Cintra with works of art, which are open to the 
inspection of visitors whenever His Majesty is 
not occupying it. The architecture of the build- 
ing and its internal arrangements are peculiar, 
and the grounds are laid out with taste and 

This vicinity is replete with interest to tour- 
ists. On an adjacent peak is an old Moorish 
Castle and strong-hold in admirable preserva- 
tion, and near by, the celebrated Convento da 
Cortica, or Cork Convent, instituted by Joao de 
Castro, who, though once Viceroy of India, 
died a beggar. It derives its name from the 
material which has replaced wood in its con- 
struction, and which is furnished abundantly by 
a grove of cork-oaks in the neighborhood. The 
hole in front of the convent still remains, in 
which poor Honorius dwelt sixteen years, 
u In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell." 

After exhausting Cintra, which is not done 
without visiting Monserrat, the gorgeous resi- 
dence of Beckford, author of "Vathek," and 

after drinking a glass of vinho de Collares, at the 
village where it is made, a long and tiresome 
jolt on the back of a diminutive donkey brings 
to Mafra, renowned for its great building erect- 
ed by Joao V. in 1730, and comprising within 
its immense square of eleven hundred and fifty 
feet a church, a monastery, and two palaces, 
containing in the aggregate eight hundred and 
sixty-six rooms, and having space enough upon 
its roof to drill ten thousand men. The organs 
and chimes in the church are scarcely excelled 
by any in the world, but the latter are seldom 
rung unless some of the royal family are pres- 
ent. This Joao V. was the same who erected 
the chapel of St. John in the church of St. 
Roque, and whose zeal in building religious 
edifices induced Benedict IV. to bestow the 
title of Fidelissimo on him and his successors, 
whence they have ever since been styled "Most 
Faithful Majesties," as those of France and 
Spain are "Most Christian" and "Most Cath- 
olic." The environs of Mafra have none of the 
beauties of Cintra. The country here is a 
waste, and the site was selected by the King 
in fulfillment of a vow, that, if blessed with an 
heir, he would build a church on the most bar- 
ren spot within his dominions. The saintly 
confessor who heard the vow is said to have 
taken good care that the monarch's prayer 
should be realized. 

Royalty is an expensive luxury. It cost a 
million of dollars to marry the boy and girl 
B who sit upon the throne before which this na- 
tion bows doAvn. Groaning with want, it spends 
millions annually in feeding and clothing the 
relatives, parasites, and mistresses of the royal 
family. Yet the people are loyal. Though 
they retail the scandal of the court they doff 
their hats and bend obsequiously to the very 
spendthrifts and libertines whose flagrant vio- 
lations of propriety they condemn without hav- 
ing the independence to punish. Two families 
enjoy the privilege of keeping on their hats in 
the presence of royalty, and Vasco da Gama's 
descendant, the Marquis of Niza, as hereditary 
Admiral of the Indies, precedes the King in go- 
ing on board a man-of-war. Though not or- 
dinarily included among public sights, Ameri- 
cans should not neglect to visit the collection 
of state coaches at the Calvario, as a part of 
their study of the peculiarities of royalty. Here 
are stowed away the huge, lumbering gilded 
coaches in which the kings and queens have 
for centuries^ on all state occasions, been drawn 
through the streets for the dazzling of the vul- 
gar. The oldest coach, as well as the simplest 
and least absurd, belonged to Affonso Hen- 
riques, who established the kingdom of Portu- 
gal in 1132, and who was the first of the line 
of thirty -one sovereigns that have occupied 
its throne. Of kindred interest, as illustra- 
ting the senseless extravagance entailed by mo- 
narchical institutions, are the royal stables, with 
a population of one hundred and twenty horses 
and half as many mules. 

I Farther on, in the suburb of the same mime, 



is the pretty Totcrr of lltlcm, from which nn J 
over- zoa kmi sergeant fired thoso shot* nt theJ 
Niagara, which for a moment noted the nn ] 
tionnl Eagle to mfT hi* feathers. A single shell 
would have demolished thr» fort, hut at the 
same time would have destroyed a heautiful 
relir of the nrt of three hundred and fifty ream | 
ago. Its guns nrc as harmless for offensive a* 
Hi Walls nrc powerless for defensive purposes. 
It was once used as a prison for female offend- 
ers against the state, hut is now merely a »ta- I 
tion from which the sunset gnn, and signals ' 
for vessels to henve to for the health -officer's 
visit . are fired. Its hatrcrv does saluting scrr- 
ice, with half a dozen others, on nil thcM* roval 
and religious festivals which require the burn- 
ing of powder, that most grateful incense to 
Portuguese and Spanish dignitaries. Guns 
have to he fired whenever the King or anv of I 
the royal family emhark or disembark, on the 
anniversaries of their birth*., baptism, marriage, 
and death ; and when a new heir appears the j 
salutes are repeated day after day according to ! 
the caprice of the moment. The Cortes, in an 
ebullition of revolutionary fervor, dc< lan d that 
sovereignty resided in the people, nnd enacted 
that the title of Majesty should W applied to 
their own collective body, at the same time re- 
quiring the King to swear himself as the fall 
citizen of the kingdom ; hence their Ming 
and dissolution have likewise to be saluted : but 
the custom appears most absurd, when all the 
men-of-war and forts fire salvos on the day of 
Corpus Christi as the Host is taken from the 
church for its procession through the streets, 

and again on it« return. The Tower of liclcm 
was built on an islet, but the rining of the riv- 
er hank has left it a considerable distance from 

Nothing, however, in or about Lisbon will 

duct of Agoastiorcs, which supplies the < it\ 
with water brought ten miles from the village 
of Ibdlnv This marvelous creation of mm 
ranks higher n< a w onder of the world than the 
Coloasu* of Khodcs or the Pharos of Alexan- 
dria. The aqueduct is partly underground : 

carried it arros* the valley of the A Iran tare, in 
the suburb of that name, over a series of thirty 
arches, the largest of which, at the point of 
lowest depression of the dry IkmI of the stream- 
let, is two hundred and sixty-four feet high, 
and has a width from pier to pier of one hun- 
dred nnd seven. Its symmetry and simplicity, 
at the first view. di«a|'j.<.int the -pertator. who 
does not folly realize the immensity of the 
work until he compares it with surrounding 
heights, and, standing directly l»eneath ii, fel- 
lows its piers upward until they lose themselves 
in the narrow line of stone overhead. Th( 
corridor is only five feet wide, and i* traverser 
by three channels of thirteen inches each, of 
which two arc ever running, and the third used 
only when the others arc being cleaned or re- 
paired. The water is poured into an immense 
covered reservoir, whence it is conducted to the 
several public cha/ariz or fountains. A famil- 



iar experiment in acoustics may be performed 
by whispering close to one of the abutments 
of the great arch in a tone too low to be heard 
by a by-stander, but perfectly intelligible to a 
third person whose ear presses the opposite abut- 
ment, more than a hundred feet distant, and 
even a more interesting cataphonic effect is ob- 
served by standing directly beneath the centre 
of the arch and beginning to speak aloud, each 
word will be repeated distinctly four several 
times, in different tones as the voice is reflected 
from side to side, until it is lost nearly three 
hundred feet above. Guides may be obtained 
at the Deposito das Agoastiores, who, for a cru- 
zado, will take the visitor as far as he wishes 
to walk inside the corridor, and also upon the 
top of the aqueduct over the great arch, which 
has been closed as a highway on account of the 
temptation it offered to the commission of sui- 
cides and murders, at one time so alarmingly 
frequent that a fresh victim was looked for ev- 
ery morning on the rocky bottom of the valley. 

Lisbon is being rapidly brought within com- 
munication with other portions of the continent. 
A line of French steamers coasts around the 
peninsula from Brest to Marseilles, and makes 
weekly stoppages going and returning. Rail- 
roads are being projected all over the king- 
dom, and connects its interior with the capital. 
An hour's ride, after ferrying across the river, 
which widens to four miles at the upper end of 
the city, carries you to Setubal (Anglice, St. 
Ubes, famous for salt), a city so old, say its 
admirers, that it derives its name from Tubal 
Cain. It stands on the shore of a lagoon, cov- 
ering the site of the Roman town of Cedobriga, 
where lights were seen one night by a sentinel 
on a neighboring height to wave to and fro and 
then disappear. Coins and pieces of tesselated 
pavement reward the patient seeker after relics, 
who is content to dig an hour or two among 
the sands at low-tide. The lines of Torres 
Vedras, by which Wellington defended Lisbon 
against the French in 1810, are only a pleas- 
ant drive from the city. 

If the traveler examines attentively all the 
objects and places of interest which have here 
been cursorily enumerated, and the many oth- 
ers of scarcely less attraction, with which this 
city is so full, he will find occupation for many 
weeks, and will depart well satisfied with the 
manner in which he has employed his time, 
and quite disposed to agree with the boast of 
its citizens, that 

"Quern nao tern visto Lisboa, 
Nao tern visto villa boa." 


OUR village was ensconced among the Vir- 
ginia mountains, and the epoch of which 
we now write was considerably over a third of a 
century ago. The Blue Ridge on the one side, 
and the Alleghanies on the other, seemed to 
shut us out from all the world. In the sum- 

mer, as the silvery morning mists curtained these 
mountain barriers, or as the cloud -shadows 
moved along them, or as the storm came sweep- 
ing over them, they were very beautiful and 
grand ; and hardly less so when winter draped 
them in mantles of snow. Sometimes in the 
autumn the dried leaves and woods would ignite, 
and for weeks the bright chain of the "fire in 
the mountains," circling around peak, knoll, and 
precipice, was a splendid spectacle as seen 
through the black night. 

A village far removed from the great marts 
of commerce and thoroughfares has but little 
to disturb its quiet. Often through the whole 
length of our principal street not a moving thing 
was to be seen. A few loungers were usually 
to be found about the corners, whittling the 
empty boxes which served them as seats; and 
a cluster of village politicians at times oscillated 
on the hinder legs of chairs at the tavern door, 
discussing the affairs of the nation. If a trav- 
eling horseman happened to arrive he was keenly 
scanned, and his name, residence, and destina- 
tion carefully searched out. In the summer 
season tourists came along, regaling their city 
eyes amidst our fine scenery, and were treated 
with no little deference and hospitality. Great 
droves of horned cattle from the counties beyond 
us, on their way to distant markets, also not un- 
frequently relieved the monotony, some inquis- 
itive soul always calling out, "Whose drove is 
that? How many have you in your drove?" 
If the stupid and perverse drove " broke" in the 
street and got into higgledy-piggledy, running 
in the wrong direction and in all directions, it 
was most inspiriting to behold. 

No railroad with its shriek and clatter, no 
steamboat disgorging impatient throngs, no rum- 
bling omnibuses or noisy, insolent cabmen, no 
bustle and din of trade invaded our quiet. The 
only link connecting us with the rest of mankind 
was a tri-weekly mail stage — a long, ponderous, 
yellow wagon. The body sat low on the axles, 
as a preventive against upsets, and the driver's 
seat inside. Slowly and with great toil it made 
its way over the long, precipitous hills, over the 
great boulders and ridges of limestone which ob- 
structed the ill-made and dangerous roads. As 
it was the custom to condemn intractable horses 
to stage service, there were sometimes terrible 
accidents — the desperate beasts, taking fright 
on some hill-top and dashing like so many fu- 
ries, would drag the pitching vehicle down the 
long descent and at last hurl it bottom upward 
on the rocks, a mass of rubbish, maiming the 
passengers, and perhaps killing the driver. Some 
of these perils of stage-travel were the theme of 
oft-repeated narrative to intensely interested 
and dismayed young auditors in the nursery, or 
around the winter evening's fire. The difficul- 
ties of communication made every where else 
seem very far from us, and some people nowa- 
days would laugh at our ideas of distances. For 
instance, I remember that when one of our vil- 
lagers was on one occasion about setting off for 
Alabama, he went around from house to house, 



with great solemnity and tenderness telling every 
body farewell. 

Bat the stirring times for our village were 
certain public days of annual occurrence when 
the country people flocked in, tilling the tavern 
and crowding the street. "Court days" were 
seasons of general convocation. With few oc- 
casions for personal intercourse, the people from 
different sections availed themselves of these op- | 
portunities for settling up business matters. , 
Then customers were dunned, bills paid, tin- pub- 
lb crier sold worthless horses with high cui 
urns on their matchless qualities, and the shm .tl 
brought down his ruthless hammer on the housc- 
hold effects of some poor unfortunate who had 
failed, to make both ends meet, while his busy | 
deputy called the names of tardy jurors or wit- 
nesses three times over from the court-hoote 
steps; fanners poun d doleful plaints into each 
other's cars over backward seasons, drought*, i 
short crops, ami low prices while family affair* 
and gossip in general were not negl< ■ ted. Ki< h 
were the stores of news carried at the ch*c Of 
such d:iv- to c< > 1 1 1 1 1 i"t I • < M't ««• re Uhj ref- 

erences for weeks afterward to what the good- 
man had "heard at court.'' 

44 Election-day," however. wa« one of our high 
days. All the voters of the county then Mrm- 
liled, and great was the bustle and the throng. 
Candidates for Congress and the Legislature, 
in their l>cst Sunday clothes, were conspicuous — 
shaking hands with voting an«l c >l«i, inquiring 
about the good-wife and children, hoping all 
were well. On the busting-, t.«., they »t««od in 
imposing array, (souring out their wclFconned 
speeches — some with stammering tongue, oth- 
ers facetious and humorous, making the sober > 
farmers shake their side* over happy hits and 
oft-t<>ld jokes, others polished, classical, elo- 
quent ; for some of our orators were men whose 
splendid declamation thrilled the councils of the 
nation. Eager were the eves turned u|«>n each 
voter, as, according to the ru-t.-m there, the 
sheriff grasj»cd his hand, called aloud his name, 
and demanded, " \Vh< tn do you vote for?** 
And when at last the setting sun pave the signal 
for closing the polls, and the result was an- 
nounced, great was the joy, and great the dis- 
appointment too. Long and deep were the po- 
tations of the victors: long and deep were the 
potations of the vanquished. 

But 44 General Muster" was the day of days. 
For us young folk, at least, it was first in the 
calendar. Then from early dawn the crowds 
began to gather — pouring in from every road 
and by-way, from farm-house and secluded 
mountain valley. The court-house -idewalk and 
the public corners were the property for the time 
being of thrifty country dames, whose tables 
were laden with small-beer, apples, chestnuts, 
and piles of ginger-cakes — particularly aggrava- 
ting to penniless urchins — round ones a cent 
apiece, square ones, artistically embossed, four 
cents. Horse cakes were not yet introduced. 

But the soldiers. What an array ! Troopers 
with stub-tailed coats profusely buttoned, un- 

comfortable leather helmets with horse-tail pend- 
ants, and glittering swords, dushed through 
scampering crowds on sleek, fat, prancing 
steeds. Orums rattled, fifes shrieked, captains 
and suU>rdiuatcs roared "Fall into ranks!" 
••Dress by the right!'' "Mark time!" with a 
dignity and fervor retleeting upon them and 
their county the highest credit. Then appeared 
in all his majesty the Colonel, with ) lmm m 
chapeau, the observed of all observers, a noble 
looking man, to rc-emble the great Wash- 
ington; there, too, was the stirring, lively, ar- 
dent adjutant ; and the spruce young surgeon, 
casting furtive glances at the pretty faces and 
bright eyes in those uj per windows, 

•• Forward, inarch!" at la-t echoes along the 
line, and our warriors defile through the village 
and move otfto the parade-ground on a neigh- 
In) ring hill. Let us review them. John Ful- 

uiat a regiment! Sixteen of the sixty 
troopers in the full |tanoply of horse-tail helmets 
and bullet buttons, the remainder arrayed each 

med t»c»t in his t.w n eve-. 1 lorses jogging 
„• .'.•> it ; me; to ehun h. biases standing on 
their hind bvv hordes trotting sidewise. horses 
with their head* where their tails should have 
been, hor*<** incontinent! v c harging on apple- 
women and cake tablet. The infantry |h rform 
fewer evolutions but they aic lit match for the 
trtxq* rs. Here is a uniform (sir.') coat with 
short waist nnd long, narrow skirt* that may t>c 
a relic of historic Yorktown ; here is another of 
scarlet, probably ca| lured fnun some unlucky 
Britisher at the name eventful locality; and 
th« rv is n jauntv one fresh fumi a Northern i ilv 
tailor. Hero are all varieties of 44 citizens" 
. «lumc ; black cats, blue coat*, green cunts, 
litis**} wi-dsev coats, gingham coats, no coats, 
round jackets, and hunting shorts. Here are shot 
gun*, rifles, old muskets, rusty swords, blud- 
geons, pea-sticks, and no sticks. Some are keep- 
ing step, some running to catchup; talking, 
laughing, playing tricks, and eatiug ginger- 

Once on the neighlmring bill — our Chiwijm ti 
Mar» — our regiment • m ii-elf." Its ma- 

no uvre.N are miscellaneous and original, not to 
say impromptu. For a while it stands at rest. 
44 grand, gloomy, and peculiar." Some tired of 
standing lie down on the grass; some achieve 
various practical jokes. They inarch, they coun- 
ter-march ; they form hollow squares that are 
not at all square; the lively adjutant gallops 
and vociferates in intense excitement ; the troop- 
ers scour the hill-side and part* adjacent with a 
• ration and expenditure of b0fW-8Mk and 
hoi »e-perspiratii u worthy of the highest admira- 
tion. What prodigies of valor would such sol- 
diers not perform had they only the chance! 

Our regiment having displayed its powers and 
prowess to the satisfaction of the admiring public 
and its own, wound up the eventful day by an 
extemporaneous charge on the cake-stands and 
on the taverns too. Some of the heroes not 
having exhausted their valor, undertook indi- 
vidual adventures, or what is popularly known 



as "on their own hook," the consequence of 
which were many black eyes and bloody noses. 
From the effects of the various " charges" not a 
few found it difficult to mount their horses when 
the time came for turning their faces homeward, 
or to sit erect in their saddles. Wild whoops and 
hurrahs disturbed our usually quiet village long 
after nightfall. Not a few of the sturdy coun- 
trymen reached their mountain homes through 
no small perils, and not a little the worse for 
" General Muster Day." 

Another of our village high clays was the 22d 
of February, the birth-day of Washington, for 
we Avere a patriotic people. How it was that 
the Fourth of July was not equally esteemed I 
can not explain, but such was the fact. On one 
of the beautiful hills overlooking the village was 
all institution of learning which had done much 
toward diffusing the intelligence of which we 
were no little proud, and which had enabled us 
to furnish men of renown for both Church and 
State. Washington's birthday was always the 
occasion of a grand celebration. Orations were 
delivered, our cannon was fired — especially the 
" butt," the remains of an exploded iron cannon 
— the best music we could command discoursed 
its enlivening strains, country people came in to 
gaze and admire, and the young maidens mus- 
tered in strength, their rich mountain complex- 
ions set off to the best advantage by the latest 
city fashions. The village belles were accus- 
tomed to befriend their respective college favor- 
ites by making for them ribbon rosettes, with 
long streamers, the society badges, blue for the 
one, white for the other. Fastened to the la- 
pel they decidedly added to the effectiveness of 
a young gentleman's presence. 

With these preliminaries, if the 22d happened 
to be a fair, bright day, not always to be reck- 
oned upon in February, we were sure of a good 
time. At the appointed hour the societies 
formed in column, two abreast, and marched 
from the classic halls on College Hill to the 
court-house in the midst of the town. The 
band by which they were preceded usually com- 
prised the very modest allowance of two flutes, 
and nothing else, played by amateurs. But 
that procession, that music, those blue-and-white 
streamers flying in the mountain breezes, the 
patriotic orations, the throng of bright faces, 
and the rounds of rapturous applause, if ever 
human glory had reached its culminating point, 
it seemed to us youngsters that this must be it. 
It has fallen to my lot since to see Kossuth's re- 
ception into New York, and Queen Victoria's 
reception into Edinburgh, with the review of 
80,000 troops by the Emperor and Empress of 
France, with numerous other pageants ; but these 
were tame and small affairs compared with that 
22d of February turn-out, as I used to see it in 
our mountain village. This grand gala occa- 
sion usually wound up with a ball, which was, 
of course, in harmony Avith the splendors of the 
day — in fact, the very blossom and flower of its 
Vol. XXXIII.— No. 194.— N 

glories. Our village at this time, so far as my 
memory serves me, could boast but one four- 
wheeled carriage ; and this was brought into 
requisition to transport the young ladies from 
their homes to the ball. One or more of the 
''managers" took the houses seriatim, bringing 
from each its precious contribution to the aggre- 
gate female loveliness of the occasion. As we 
boys stood at the village tavern-door, and saw 
one after another of these carriage-loads drive 
up, and youth and beauty in all its charms 
gracefully and gallantly handed from the steps 
and tripping merrily into the scene of festivity, 
it seemed almost too much bliss for mortals. 
The reader must bear in mind that in those 
primitive times ladies did not postpone their ap- 
pearance in the ball-room till from ten o'clock 
p.m. to midnight; they went before dark, and 
could, of course, be seen and admired by all 
curious spectators. When the famous black fid- 
dler at length struck up an old " Virginia Reel," 
the gayety set in in good earnest, and many a 
blooming belle and manly beau, as they tripped 
together "the light fantastic toe," wished in 
their hearts that the 22d of February would 
come every month in the year. 

But it must not be supposed that our village 
was given up to " the pomps and vanities of the 
world." On the contrary, we were rather un- 
commonly religious. Hence I must not fail to 
mention among our high days the meetings of 
Presbytery and Synod — for our population was 
chiefly of Scotch-Irish descent, and consequent- 
ly Presbyterian — Synod did not come except after 
intervals of some years ; but when it did, it was 
worth while to be there. The writer of this was 
not much of a judge of the preaching in those 
days ; but of the eating he felt himself author- 
ized to speak in terms of the most unqualified 
approbation. " The big pot was put in the lit- 
tle one." Every house was filled with guests, 
on the principle of the largest hospitality. Min- 
isters, laymen, and ladies were alike welcome ; 
and they came from every part of the State — 
from hundreds of miles away. Great were the 
crowds. The old church was too small to con- 
tain them ; and when Sunday came, "the great 
day of the feast," the throng surpassed all de- 
scription. And very good times these were ; 
many the pleasant acquaintances formed, many 
the genial hours passed, many the fine ser- 
mons, many the pious impressions — to last, it 
was to be hoped, forever. It was worth going 
a very long way to participate in these good 

But the times of which I write are long since 
passed. Our mountain village has so changed 
that we of the by-gone days returning there 
would hardly know it. Modern fashions and 
modern airs have usurped the place of the for- 
mer simplicity. But it is questionable whether 
any advance has been made on the real enjoy- 
ment of life which attended those unsophisticated 
"high days" of "auld lang syne." 








NOTICING Mr. Bashwood's confusion (after 
a moment's glance at the change in his 
personal appearance), Midwinter sjhAo first. 

" I see I have surprised you, '" ho .-a.d. " You 
were looking, I suppose, for somebody cUc ? 
Have you heard from Allan ? Is he on his wav 
home again already f 

The inquiry about Allan, though it would nat- 
urally have suggested itself to any one in Mid- 
winter's position at that moment, addc 1 to Mr. 
Bashwood's confusion. Not knowing how cl-e 
to extricate himself from the critical |*>Mtion in 
which he was jilaccd he took refuge in simple 

44 1 know nothing about Mr. Armadale — oh 
dear, no, Sir, I know nothing al*>ut Mr. Anna- 
dale," he answered, with tired !••«»•» tag' nic<»» and 
hurry. 44 Welcome back to England, Sir,*' ho 
went on, changing the subject in his nervously 
talkative manner. 44 1 didn't know you had 
been abroad. It's so long since wc havo hail 
the pleasure — since I have haJ iho pleasure — 
Have you enjoyed yourself, Sir, in foreign 
parts? Such different manners from ours — 
yes, yes, yes — such different manners from ours! 
Do you make a long slay in England, now y,u 
have come back?" 

44 1 hardly know," said Midwinter. 44 1 hare 
been obliged to alter my plans, and to come to 
England unexpectedly. II hesitated a little; 
his manner changed, and he added in lower 
tones, 44 A serious anxiety has brought me back. 
I can't say what my plans will lie until that 
anxiety is set at rest." 

The light of a lamp fell ou his face while he 
spoke, and Mr. Ba>h\\o i , •. , 1, for the first 
time, that he looked sadly worn and changed. 

44 I'm sorry, Sir — I'm sure I'm very sorry. If 
I could be ot any u-c ': - . . ! Mr. 15. i-'..- 
wood, sj>eaking under the influence in some de- 
gree of his nervous politeness, and in some degree 
of his remembrance of what Midwinter had done 
for him at Thorpe- Ambrose in the by-gone time. 

Midwinter thanked him. and turned away sad. 
ly. "I am afraid you can be of no use, Mr. 
Bashwood ; but I am obliged to you for your 
offer, all the same.'' He stopj»ed, ami con-id- 
ered a little: "Suppose she should not be ill? 
Suppose some mi>fortunc should have hap- 
pened?" he resumed, speaking to himself, and 
turning again toward the steward. 44 If she 
has left her mother, some trace of her miyht be 
found by inquiring at Thorpe-Ambrose." 

Mr. Bashwood's curiosity was instantly aroused. 
The whole sex was interesting to him now for 
the sake of Miss Gwilt. 

"A lady, Sir?" he inquired. "Arc you 
looking for a lady?** 

4, I am looking." said Midwinter simply, 44 for 

my wife." 

"Married. Sir!" exclaimed Mr. Ba-l.w.- I. 
" M.irr: i -•: . I la-: had the pleasure of seeing 
you ! Might 1 take the liberty of asking *" 

Midwinter's eyes dropped uneasily to tho 

44 You knev. 1 dy in f irmer times," ho 
said. " I ha\e marrietl Mi-s ("wilt." 

The steward started ha. k as he might havo 
started ki< k from a I •a.;, d j i-t 1 leveled at his 
head. Hi- e\es glared a- if he had suddenly 
l..»t his ?.< iim and the nervous trembling to 
which bo was subject shook him from head to 

"What's tho matter?" asked Midwinter. 
There was no answer. 44 What i« there v> wry 
startling," he went on, a little impalicntlv, " in 
Miss ('will's being ray wife?" 

** Yumr wife?" repealed Mr. Ba-hwood, help- 
le»%ly. 44 Mrs. Armadale — !" 1 h ( !.« , k -d him- 
self by a dc<q>cratc effort, and said no more. 

The stupor of astonishment which possessed 
the steward wa« instantly ref|e< ted in Midwin- 
ter's face. The name in which he bud secretly 
married hit wife had jaiss* d the lips of the last 
man in tin- w. rid whom he would have dreamed 
of admitting into his confidence ! He look Mr. 
Bashwood by the arm, and led him away to a 
quieter part of tho terminus than the part of 
it in which they had hitherto tj»okcn to each 

■• You referred to my wife just now," hi said ; 
44 and \ou -p"k<- of Mr$. Armuiale in tho same 

Again there was no answer. Utterly incapa- 
ble of understanding more than that he had 
involved hiuiself in some serious complication 
which VftS a coiiq lete mystery to him, Mr. Bash- 
wood struggled to extricate himself from the 
grasp that was laid on him, and struggled in 

Midwinter sternly repeated the question. 4 ' I 
..-!. •. o i n_.ii:i," i • .-.•.;!, "what do \oj mean 
by it?" 

"Nothing, Sir! I give you my word of 
honor I meant nothing !" He felt the bund on 
his arm tightening its grasp ; he saw, even in 
the obscurity of the remote corner in w hich they 
stood, that Midwinter's fiery tcmj»cr was rising 
and wa-> not to l»c trilled with. The extremity 
of his danger inspired him with the one ready 
capacity that a timid man possesses when he is 
compelled by main force to face an emergency 
— the capacity to lie. "I only meant to say, 
Sir," he burst out, with a desj>erate effort to 
look and speak confidently, "that Mr. Arma- 
dale would be surprised — " 

••You said Mr*. Armadah- :" 



* ' No, Sir — on my word of honor, on my sa- 
cred word of honor, you are mistaken — you are 
indeed! I said Mr. Armadale — how could I 
say any thing else ? Please to let me go, Sir — 
I'm pressed for time. I do assure you I'm dread- 
fully pressed for time !" 

For a moment longer Midwinter maintained 
his hold, and in that moment he decided what 
to do. 

He had accurately stated his motive for re- 
turning to England as proceeding from anxiety 
about his wife — anxiety naturally caused (after 
the regular receipt of a letter from her every 
other, or every third day) by the sudden cessa- 
tion of the correspondence between them on her 
side for a whole week. The first vaguely-terri- 
ble suspicion of some other reason for her si- 
lence than the reason of accident or of illness, 
to which he had hitherto attributed it, had struck 
through him like a sudden chill the instant he 
heard the steward associate the name of "Mrs. 
Armadale" with the idea of his wife. Little 
irregularities in her correspondence with him, 
which he had thus far only thought strange, 
now came back on his mind and proclaimed 
themselves to be suspicious as well. He had 
hitherto believed the reasons she had given for 
referring him, when he answered her letters, to 
no more definite address than an address at a 
post-office. Now he suspected her reasons of 
being excuses for the first time. He had hith- 
erto resolved, on reaching London, to inquire 
at the only place he knew of at which a clew to 
her could be found — the address she had given 
him as the address at which " her mother" lived. 
Now (with a motive which he was afraid to de- 
fine even to himself, but which was strong 
enough to overbear every other consideration in 
his mind), he determined, before all things, to 
solve the mystery of Mr. Bash wood's familiarity 
with a secret, which was a marriage-secret be- 
tween himself and his wife. Any direct appeal 
to a man of the steward's disposition, in the 
steward's present state of mind, would be evi- 
dently useless. The weapon of deception was, 
in this case, a weapon literally forced into Mid- 
winter's hands. .He let go of Mr. Bashwood's 
arm and accepted Mr. Bashwood's explanation. 

"I beg your pardon," he said, "I have no 
doubt you are right. Pray attribute my rude- 
ness to over-anxiety and over-fatigue. I wish 
you good-evening." 

The station was by this time almost a soli- 
tude ; the passengers by the train being assem- 
bled at the examination of their luggage in the 
custom-house waiting-room. It was no easy 
matter ostensibly to take leave of Mr. Bash- 
wood and really to keep him in view. But 
Midwinter's early life with his gipsy master had 
been of a nature to practice him in such strata- 
gems as he was now compelled to adopt. He 
walked away toward the waiting-room by the 
line of empty carriages, opened the door of one 
of them as if to look after something that he 
had left behind, and detected Mr. Bashwood 
making for the cab-rank on the opposite side 

of the platform. In an instant Midwinter had 
crossed, and had passed through the long row 
of vehicles, so as to skirt it on the side farthest 
from the platform. He entered the second cab 
by the left-hand door the moment after Mr. 
Bashwood had entered the first cab by the right- 
hand door. " Double your fare, whatever it is," 
he said to the driver, "if you keep the cab be- 
fore you in view, and follow it wherever it goes." 
In a minute more both vehicles were on their 
way out of the station. 

The clerk sat in his sentry-box at the gate, 
taking down the destinations of the cabs as they 
passed. Midwinter heard the man who was 
driving him call out "Hampstead!" as he went 
by the clerk's window. 

"Why did you say 'Hampstead?'" he ask- 
ed, when they had left the station. 

"Because the man before me said 'Hamp- 
stead,' Sir," answered the driver. 

Over and over again, on the wearisome jour- 
ney to the northwestern suburb, Midwinter ask- 
ed if the cab was still in sight. Over and over 
again the man answered, "Right in front of 

It was between nine and ten o'clock when the 
driver pulled up his horses at last. Midwinter 
got out and saw the cab before them waiting at 
a house-door. As soon as he had satisfied him- 
self that the driver was the man whom Mr. 
Bashwood had hired he paid the promised re- 
ward and dismissed his own cab. 

He took a turn backward and forward before 
the door. The vaguely terrible suspicion which 
had risen in his mind at the terminus had forced 
itself by this time into a definite form which was 
abhorrent to him. Without the shadow of an 
assignable reason for it he found himself blindly 
distrusting his wife's fidelity, and blindly sus- 
pecting Mr. Bashwood of serving her in the ca- 
pacity of gobetween. In sheer horror of his 
own morbid fancy he determined to take down 
the number of the house and the name of the 
street in which it stood ; and then, in justice to 
his wife, to return at once to the address Avhich 
she had given him as the address at which her 
mother lived. He had taken out his pocket- 
book, and was on his way to the corner of the 
street, when he observed the man who had driv- 
en Mr. Bashwood looking at him with an ex- 
pression of inquisitive surprise. The idea of 
questioning the cab-driver while he had the op- 
portunity instantly occurred to him. He took 
a half-crown from his pocket and put it into the 
man's ready hand. 

"Has the gentleman whom you drove from 
the station gone into that house ?" he asked. 

"Yes, Sir." 

" Did you hear him inquire for any body when 
the door was opened ?" 

"He asked for a lady, Sir— Mrs.— " The 
man hesitated. "It wasn't a common name, 
Sir ; I should know it again if I heard it." 

"Was it 'Midwinter?'" 

"No, Sir." 

" 'Armadale?'" 



"That's it, sir. Mrs. Armadale." 

"Are you sure it was 'Mrs.' and n<»t 1 Mr.: " 

''I'm as sure as a man can be who hasn't 
taken any particular notice, Sir." 

The doubt implied in that last answer decided 
Midwinter to investigate the matter on the spot, 
lie ascended the house-ste] A> he raised hi> 
hand to the bell at the side of the door the vio- 
lence of his agitation mastered him physically 
for the moment. A strange sensation as of 
something leaping up from his heart to 1 :i- 
brain, turned his head wildly giddy. He held 
by the house-railings and k<j>t his : to the 
air, and resolutely waited till he was steady 
again. Then he rang the bell. 

"Is — ?" he tried to ask for "Mrs. Armadale" 
when the maid-servant had oj •«• ned the door, 
but not even his resolution could f«»rct the name 
to pass his lips — "I> \.Kir i... 
he asked. 

" Yes, Sir." 

The girl showed him into a bark-parlor, and 
presented him to a little old lady with an oblig- 
ing manner and a bright pair of eves. 

"There is some mistak* . mi i Mi Iwinter. 
"I wished to sec — '* Once more he fried to 
utter the name, and once more lie failed to force 
it to his lips. 

44 Mrs. Armadale ?" suggested the little old 
lady, with a smile. 

" Jfea." 

" Show the gentleman up stairs, Jenny." 
The girl led the way to the drawing-room 

" Any name, Sir :" 
" No name." 

Mr. Ha.shwood had l»arely completed hit re- 
port of what had hap|*>ncd nl the terminus; 
Mr. linshwood » inijvriou* mi»trc»* was •till sit- 
ting speechless under the shock of the discovery 
that had burst on her — when the door of the 
i '< m opened, and. without a word of warning 
to precede him, Midwinter appeared on the 
threshold, lie took one step into the room, 
and mechanic ally pushed the door to behind 
him. He Stood in dead silence, and confronted 
his wife with n scrutiny that w:i* t. rnble in its 
unnatural self-possession, and that enveloped 
her steadily iu one comprehensive look from 
head to foot. 

In dead silence on her side she rose from her 
chair. In dead silence she stood erect on the 
hearth-rug and faced her husband in widow's 

lie took one step nearer to her and stopped 
again. He lifted his hand and pointed with 
his lean brown linger at her draw, 

" What does that mean?'' he asked, without 
losing his terrible self-possession, and without 
moving his outstretched hand. 

At the sound of his voice the qui< k rise and 
fall of her bosom — which had been the one out- 
ward betrayal thus far of the inner agonv that 
tortured her — suddenly stopped. She stood 
impenetrably silent, breathlessly still, as if his 

question had struek her dead and his pointing 
hand had |»etritied her. 

He advanced one >tep nearer and reiterated 
his words, in a voice even lower and quieter 
than the voice in which he had spoken first. 

One moment more of silence, one moment 
more of inaction might have been the salvation 
of lnr. Hut the fatal force of her character 
triumphed at the crisis of her destiny and his. 
White and still, and ha.-gard and old. she nut 
the dreadful emergency with n dreadful cour- 
age, and s|>okc the irre vocable words which re- 
nounced him to his face. 

"Mr. Midwinter,'" she said, in tones unnat- 
urally hard and unnaturally clear, "our ac- 
quaintance hardly entitles you to speak to ine 
iu that manner.'' Those were her words. She 

vestige of color in her cheeks faded out. 

There was a pause. Still steadily looking at 
her ho set himself to fix the language sht had 
used to him iu his mind. "She culls me ' Mr. 
Midwinter,'" ho said, slowly, in a whU|»cr. 
"She fj»«-ak* of 'our acquaintance.'" He wait- 
ed a little and looked round the room. His 
wandering eyes encountered Mr. Hash wood for 
the fin* time. He saw the steward standing 
Dear the lirv. place, trembling nnd watching him. 

"I once did yon a serviced he said; • and 
you once told me you were not an ungrateful 
man. Are vou grateful enough to answer mo 
if I ask you something?" 

He waited a little again. Mr. ftuhwood still 
«tood trcmhiinc at the li ret dace silently natch. 

there some change in toe that I am not conscious 
of myself? Am I seeing things that you don't 
sec?' Am I hearing words that tow don't hear? 

Again he waited, and again the silence was 
unbroken. His eyes Ugan to glitter, and the 
savage blood that he had inherited from his mo- 
ther rose dark and slow in his ashy cheeks. 

• Is that woman," he askod, "the woman 
whom vou once knew, whose name was MJ»s 

Once more his wife collected her fatal cour- 
age. One* more his w ife sjiokc her fatal words. 

44 You coni|>el me to rcj»cat," she said, "that 
you are presuming on our acquaintance, and 
that you arc forgetting what is due to me." 

He turned upon her with a savage sudden- 
n which forced a cry of alarm from Mr. Iiash- 
wood's lips. 

44 Are you or are you not My Wife ?" he asked 
through his set teeth. 

She raised her eyes to his for the first time. 
Her 1-M spirit looked nt him, steadily defiant, 
out of the hell of its own despair. 

"I SIB not your wife," she said. 

He staggered back, with his hand groping for 
something to hold by, like the hands of a mau 
in the dark. He leaned heavf